


Room 27

by Udunie



Series: Exit 27 [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Barebacking, Begging, Breathplay, Captivity, Cock Warming, Crying, Deepthroating, Diapers, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Enemas, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Feminization, Fisting, Food Sex, Forced Feminization, Forced Orgasm, Gags, Humiliation, Impact Play, Inflation, M/M, Masochism, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Oviposition, Pain, Partner sharing, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sadism, Sexist Language, Shaving, Sloppy Seconds, Stiles ends up enjoying everything, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation, Watersports, mostly - Freeform, no actual rape, nose-hook
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 20:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 40,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3262907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Udunie/pseuds/Udunie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a complete AU, in which Stiles hears about a motel where you get raped if you request a certain room. He isn't sure what compels him to check it out, but he is about to learn a lot of new things about himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Friday

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Powerless](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1418542) by [LittleSparrow69](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSparrow69/pseuds/LittleSparrow69). 



> First of all, this is in NO way representing a safe, sane and consensual BDSM relationship, or any kind of healthy relationship, really.  
> You should NOT base any bedroom activity on what you are reading in this fic, it's all just fantasy that I wrote because it got me hot in the panties.
> 
> Second, this fic was greatly inspired by LittleSparrow69's Powerless verse, which is a Supernatural fic that you should definitely read if you are into kinky shit. Seriously, it's so hot... Actually, it's so hot that it made me write 10K porn.
> 
> Okay, so with that out of the way...  
> I think this is the kinkiest thing I have ever written, and if you want me to be honest, it will only get kinkier. I will upload the tags as things progress and I'm pretty sure that at one point I will end up not having any readers left, because everybody will be squicked by something...
> 
> If you think I should add anything else, drop a comment, I haven't posted in a while, so my tagging instincts might be a bit rusty.
> 
> Also, this is sadly unbetaed, all the mistakes are mine, and mine alone.

Prologue

Stiles sat in his Jeep in front of the run-down truck stop, stewing in indecision.

This was stupid.

He could just make out the almost abandoned looking motel a bit farther down on the exit road from the interstate.

He worried his fingernails between his teeth, eyeing the light that was probably coming from the manager’s office.

Kyle said… Well, to be honest, Kyle said a lot of things that night, and he was as drunk as a fratboy could get while still remaining mostly uptight. Anyway, he was not a reliable source of information even when sober, but still.

 _“Listen, if you, like, go to_ Alan’s Motel _, the one at exit 27, and you ask for room 27, like, speca… spa… specifically, then, like, you will get raped and forced to do some perverted, kinky-ass-shit… But, uh, they won’t kill you or anything, just like, fuck you, fuck you real bad…”_

It was probably just some really stupid urban legend. Maybe it was even supposed to be one of those ‘horror’ stories, and Kyle just failed to tell it properly.

The internet didn’t give him any answers either, hell, Alan’s didn’t even have a web page, and that in itself should have been enough to make him not want to even go near it. What kind of place had no site in this day and age? The kind that didn’t have WiFi.

But he was still sitting in his car with the engine idling quietly in the chill, winter air and thinking about what the actual fuck he was even doing here.

It wasn’t like… well, he long ago came to understand that he was plain weird in almost every sense of the world. For one, there was only a few people who could withstand prolonged exposure to his personality, namely; his father, Scott, and maybe Lydia - to some extent. That was it. He was spazzy, twitchy, he could rarely take part in a normal conversation with his classmates at uni, because he couldn’t stay on the same topic for more than a few minutes without his brain making some crazy jumps and ending up on something completely different. And that was all without his ADHD, which he was supposed to grow out by now, but it was a long standing fact that Mother Nature just loved to fuck with Stiles.

So, it wasn’t like he was ignorant of the fact that sometimes he got off on some pretty freaky porn on the net, but having the occasional questionable fantasy, and actually planning to go to a… a _rape motel_ or something? That was completely different.

There was no way it was real, anyway.

He will just make a fool of himself. Maybe the poor fucker running the motel has stupid college kids requesting room 27 every weekend for shits and giggles. Maybe there wasn’t even a room 27.

He should just turn back around and continue towards Beacon Hills on the interstate; surprise his dad by arriving a few days earlier than he said he would. Yeah. Yeah, he should totally do that.

Stiles backed out of the parking lot, and turned down the road towards _Alan’s_.

* * *

 

It turned out that Alan was actually the manager. Alan Deaton to be specific, according to the name plate on the counter - why he even had a name plate in a place like this was a mystery, but Stiles wasn’t about to question his décor choices.

No, Stiles was busy with his mouth going dry with nerves as he stood in the small office. The manager wasn’t exactly intimidating in the classic way - he was even a bit shorter than Stiles, though thicker, obviously nicely built under his clothes - but there was something about the way the guy just radiated _Zen_ that made Stiles want to turn around and run for his Jeep.

“Yo,” he said, and seriously, what a smooth conversation starter.

“Hello, how can I help you?” the man asked, not fazed by his customer’s apparent lack of social skills.

“Ugh… I…” He wondered for a second if Alan was Zen enough not to sue him when he found out that he came here assuming his motel offered services outside of the usual. Like, you know, sex of the non-consensual type. Though, would it still be non-consensual if Stiles came here explicitly for that? “I would like a room. Um, please.”

“Of course,” he said, turning to the row of keys hanging on the wall behind him. “How long are you staying?”

Stiles shifted on his feet. Jesus, for some reason his cock was already half-hard. This was probably not normal.

“I have to leave Monday morning,” he said carefully, watching the manager reach for the key with a tag that had 01 on it. “I ugh… can I have room 27?”

The man’s hand froze above the key to 01, but he didn’t give any other indication that there was anything wrong with request.

“I don’t see why not,” he said finally, taking off the other key from its hook. He turned back around and Stiles couldn’t read anything on his face. He had a hard time deciding whether he was disappointed or relieved.

***

By the time he was in his room, he was pretty sure it was all a stupid prank that someone tried to pull on Kyle at some point and the dumb asshole thought it was true.

It was already dark outside, even though it was just after eight, and he could see the light in the manager’s office, could even make out Alan behind the counter from the window of his room.

The motel was shaped like a U with the office sitting separately in the mouth of it; room 01 was on one end, and room 27 was on the other.

He quickly took stock of his immediate surroundings but there was very little that seemed out of the ordinary. The double bed sitting in the middle of the room had a metal frame that could theoretically be used as a prop in a sex dungeon, but the sloppy white paintjob and the faded, flower patterned bedcovers didn't exactly scream sexual deviancy. Honestly, it looked like something that belonged in a B category retirement home. Other than that, there was a TV, an armchair, a small table and a wooden chair. None of which seemed to fit together.

The only curiosity was the bathroom; Stiles have been in enough motel rooms to expect a tiny little closet barely fitting a shower stall and a toilet, so the claw footed tub was definitely a surprise.

If he had to guess, he would have said that the tub was there first, and whoever renovated last decided to expand the bathroom instead of throwing it out. Or at least that seemed to be the most likely explanation for why the thing was placed so awkwardly between the shower and the toilet, taking up most of the space, and not parallel to the wall.

Stiles quickly grew bored of the exploration, and took another peek out the window. The office was dark.

The Jeep was the only car in the parking lot stretching in the middle of the motel behind the office and just looking at the lonely car was enough to make him feel strangely isolated. Maybe he would just stay the night and then check out tomorrow instead of Monday.

He lay down, not even bothering to undress and turned on the TV. This wasn't how a sane person spent their Friday night. He was pretty sure. Not like he had much luck with the dating and partying that all the other kids in college seemed to be doing... But sitting alone in a run-down motel room was a new low even for him.

Whatever.

At least he would get a good night's sleep without his roommate sexileing him, and he would get on the road fresh and perky tomorrow.

***

Stiles woke up with a low groan. His head felt fuzzy, no, his whole body felt weirdly sensitive… he couldn’t remember getting drunk... and it was too bright, way too bright to open his eyes even though that didn't make any sense; he was pretty sure he turned the lights off before going to bed. He swallowed another groan, trying to recall where he went to sleep, - it felt much too uncomfortable for him to be lying in a bed - but his brain refused to cooperate.

He almost didn't notice the fingers on his jaw gently prying his lips apart - dazedly putting it down to the lingering of some kinky dream -, until there was something forced behind his teeth keeping his mouth almost painfully open. His head was jostled a bit, and he heard the sound of a plastic buckle clicking into place.

Still dizzy, he felt around with his tongue; there was some kind of a ring - hard, smooth surface- wedged into his mouth. He could feel his heartbeat picking up when he couldn’t dislodge it, breath growing panicky as he realized that his hands were restrained...

There was a palm on his face, cupping his chin almost gently while a thumb reached into his mouth, pushing down on his tongue and rubbing it steadily in small circles.

"Don't start fussing now," said a familiar, completely even voice. "We're almost finished with the necessities."

Stiles finally managed to open his eyes, and sure enough, Alan Deaton was standing above him, face just as unreadable as it had been when he requested the key to room 27.

Stiles tried to turn his head away, but the manager’s hold turned surprisingly strong, keeping him pinned, and just kept looking at him with those dark, calm eyes. Stiles forced himself to stop hyperventilating, taking stock of his situation.

He was naked. He was lying in the tub with his legs hanging over the sides, and a slight tug told him that his ankles were tied together with a length of rope or something that went under the tub. The position left his thighs wide open, his lower body slightly raised with his ass barely even touching the bottom. He was lying at an awkward angle; his hands bent back beside his head - and over the edge of the tub -, wrists tied together and fixed to something - maybe one of the clawed legs. There was no way he could get leverage like this; his dad taught him the basics of how to get out of getting tied up, but right now, with his body laid out in such a vulnerable, open position there was nothing he could do.

The manager was still petting his tongue, like it was as normal as a pat on the shoulder. His other hand slowly reached down and rubbed Stiles’ chest with slippery fingers. Soapy fingers.

Stiles took a shaky breath as his brain finally caught up on the details; he had been scrubbed clean, his whole body was kind of pink from it. He was missing his pubic hair. _Holy shit_ , he was missing his pubic hair.

“I don’t care much for appearances, but I do have some… quirks,” Alan said, forcing his head upwards and his gaze away from his groin as his breath grew fast again. Stiles swallowed awkwardly, trying to concentrate on the thumb moving on his tongue and to his surprise the rhythmic motion did help with the anxiety building in his stomach.

“That’s right,” Alan said evenly, “I haven’t hurt you, but I do like things like you clean.”

 _Shit_. Stiles closed his eyes for a second, feeling his face flush because his dick, his stupid, _stupid_ dick twitched.

When he dared looking again the man was smiling - a tiny quirk of his lips - and then pulled his hand away from his face. Stiles took a deep breath - mouth feeling weirdly empty -, and looked down at himself again.

His crotch was perfectly smooth and naked, his cock looking sort of out of place with its usual nest of curls gone but it didn’t seem to care as it was chubbing up nicely right before his eyes.

So fucking humiliating.

Alan picked up the disposable razor that was left sitting on the edge of the tub, and slowly brought it down to Stiles chest.

“Don’t move now, I wouldn’t want to cut you,” he said, making Stiles freeze. He looked on in slightly horrified fascination as the manager shaved his chest then soaped up his hands again and switched to his armpits.

Stiles was pretty sure that would result in bloodshed because he was ticklish as hell and there was no way he could withstand getting shaved without ending up cut, but Alan apparently didn’t fuck around. His slick hands dug into his skin, almost massaging the sensitive flesh and Stiles quickly realized that laughing was the last thing he was about to do.

The slide of the razor was almost hypnotic as the hair was stripped away revealing the pale skin underneath. Alan was focused, using one hand to pull the skin taut while he worked, running his fingers firmly over every stripe of the freshly naked skin with the occasional contented little hum.

By the time both of his armpits were completely hairless Stiles was panting, hard as a rock, confused... and even a little bit scared.

His body was acting strange; there was no way he should be turned on by being forcefully shaved by a man he didn’t even know. Maybe it was whatever the guy used to knock him out. That had to be it.

He watched Alan rinsing his hands by the sink with suspicion and quietly tried to will away his erection. It didn’t work.

The manager puttered around like he had no reason to rush and by the time he stepped back to the tub Stiles was twitching with nerves. Maybe he could have calmed himself down if he was able to babble at him a bit, but the stupid ring in his mouth made it impossible.

“One last flush,” Alan said, picking up the rubber hose with its end attached to the old fashioned tap at the end of the tub. It was one of those convert-your-faucet-into-a-shower deals. The manager twisted off the shower head and smeared a bit of white cream on the end of the tubing.

It took a few seconds for the words to make sense to Stiles, but when Alan reached down and rubbed the excess cream over his hole he felt all his muscles locking up.

He started thrashing around, pulling on his bindings to no avail. Alan watched him impassively while he struggled for a few more moments, and then planted a heavy hand on his stomach making him basically immobile.

“No need to be nervous,” he said evenly, popping the end of the hose into his ass quickly and efficiently. Stiles felt his face grow hot and blotchy from embarrassment, he wanted to cry. “There’s nothing left in there for you to be flustered about, I already cleansed you out twice.”

He kept one hand on the tubing and opened the tap.

The slow flow of tepid water entering him through the hose was so shocking that Stiles forgot to try dislodging it for a minute… it only took a few beats for his brain to get online again, but by then Alan’s hand was back; keeping his body in place with a palm resting above his navel, just a few inches from his... fuck, his still hard cock.

He was breathing heavily, chest heaving as his bowels slowly filled with water. Alan kept talking through it and the calm voice was so at odds with the helpless, twisting feelings swelling in him that he was pretty sure it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

“There you go. No use fighting it,” the manager said. Stiles could feel a tiny trickle of water escaping beside the hose and he whimpered in panic but Alan just pushed the tube a few inches deeper into him. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but it needs to be done... I always keep my toys clean.”

Stiles felt bloated. It was only a few minutes since the flow started but he kept looking at his stomach expecting it to be distended. It felt like it should be as big as a balloon, but he couldn’t see anything other than Alan’s brown hand resting there. He wasn’t even holding him down anymore; Stiles stopped struggling, more scared now of actually managing to dislodge the hose.

“Very good,” the manager said, satisfied with the way he was keeping himself so carefully still. Stiles had to squeeze his eyes shut for a second because his dick jerked with the praise. “You will start having cramps soon. It’s completely normal; you will just have to bear with it. Though, it would be easier if you relaxed.”

Alan wasn’t even finished with speaking when Stiles felt the first jab of twisting pain in his stomach. He made an unintended moan deep in his throat and tried to breathe through it, but it was soon followed by more. Alan started rubbing his belly and it helped a bit, though it only took a few minutes for Stiles to be making a constant stream of pained whines.

The water just kept pouring into him, it was too much and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. He just needed it to fucking stop.

His dick was leaking a small puddle of precum on his stomach.

The hand on his abdomen pushed down a bit experimentally. Stiles still couldn’t see anything different, but he felt the resistance there as his gut was growing firm from the pressure inside.

“Almost there. Just a bit more and you can let it all out.”

Right as Stiles felt his eyes well with tears from being absolutely overwhelmed, Alan turned the tap off.

“That’s it. I’m going to pull out now. Don’t try to withhold the water; it will only make the cramping worse.”

As soon as the hose was out Stiles clamped down like his life depended on it. The manager gave a sigh, shaking his head, but - even as the sight of the disappointment made something in Stiles shiver in shame - he just couldn’t. It was impossible.

His hole felt tender but he squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on keeping the muscle clenched, desperately fighting the gurgling of the liquid filling him up to bursting.

His traitorous dick lay on his stomach, pointing proudly at his navel and twitching in time with the cramps like it wanted to point out where they were coming from.

Alan picked up the hose and started the water again.

Stiles had no idea what he was about to do, so when the man put his thumb in the stream and aimed the strong jet he created at the tip of his cock Stiles’ head hit the wall of the tub with enough force to make him dizzy for a second.

He thought he was shouting – though the sound that tore out of him was distorted by his jaw being braced open – as he came. The orgasm was so violent that it was almost unrecognizable, making his whole body jerk and then relax as the aftershocks washed over him and he lost his already tremulous hold on his sphincter.

 _Oh god_. He felt his eyes roll back as the water gushed out of him, the easing of the nearly unbearable pressure in his gut almost as good as a second orgasm. Stiles’ body gave up all pretense of resistance and went completely lax, just letting it happen.

He turned his head to the side, hiding his tear-stained face in his arm as his ass kept squirting out water while Alan gently showered him down.

***

He was standing on trembling legs in front of the sink while Alan toweled him down – throughout and businesslike. There was a slowly clearing fog on his mind making everything seem surreal and fuzzy. He idly wondered why he wasn’t running right now, or at least working on getting the ring-gag out of his mouth.

Yeah, he heard that stupid story from Kyle and for some reason his brain refused to let it go, but this… whatever it was that happened in that fucking tub was not what he wanted. He felt utterly humiliated; the knowledge of what Alan did before - with his unconscious body - made him redden with shame. Still, he couldn’t help picturing it; getting drugged, stripped naked, hauled into the bathroom, tied down… a hose forcing his body full of water as his genitals were shaved.

His spent cock twitched at the image, and that was the thing that finally scared him out of his stupor.

He didn’t get far. He didn’t even get out of the bathroom; he pushed Alan away with uncoordinated hands – probably only succeeding with the advantage of surprise – and managed to take two whole steps before a hand clamped down around his arm and he was spun around.

The manager sprayed some cloudy liquid into his face from a perfume bottle with a put-upon sigh and the world went dark.

***

Stiles felt kind of floaty, which was strange because he was sure he was being dragged along by someone.

He was tossed onto something soft and bouncy but before he could get comfortable there were insistent hands tugging his limbs this way and that. He wanted the hands gone so he could go back to floating again.

A voice was speaking. Stiles thought it might be important, so he tried to pay attention, catching a few letters here and there before the words started to make sense in his head.

“... at.... ain… hea… clear… in a few minutes.” Alan said. Stiles frowned. He wanted to wet his lips, but he wasn’t able to for some reason.

“You are going to leave on Monday morning. Until then what you want is completely irrelevant so I think it would be wiser if you saved your energy. You will need it.”

Stiles managed to pry his eyes open, the floaty feeling slipping away as fast as it set in, leaving him with the reality of being curled up on his side on the bed of room 27. He tried to move but his wrists were tied to his ankles on each side, making it difficult. Somewhere deep down he knew he should be panicking right about now, especially since it was proven that he wasn’t allowed to leave this fucking place.

Strangely, he wasn’t. He felt unsettled, sure. Maybe even scared a little, but nothing else. Obviously, Alan could have lied when he said that he could leave on Monday, but considering that he could apparently overpower Stiles whenever he wanted, he had no need to make things up. So that had to mean he was telling the truth, right?

Alan was sitting beside him on the bed, rummaging around in a large toolbox on the floor. Stiles tried to see what he was doing, expecting to see bondage gear and dildos and the like, instead he was met with a box full of seemingly random, almost innocuous items. There were some ugly ties, duct tape, a few old mobile phones, empty perfume bottles, shoe laces…

The manager finally found what he was looking for; an old - and obviously used - dog collar. Stiles sucked in a breath, feeling his eyes go wide. Alan gave him a measured look, deft fingers quickly working the clasp of the collar open.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned while managing this place,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching “it’s that you have to economize. I would be an idiot if I spent a fortune on something that I use for free, wouldn’t you think?” he asked, looking him straight in the eyes. Stiles felt his breath quicken.

Alan held the collar out for him; not asking for approval, just offering a chance for observation. The leather was clean, though it was slightly cracked in some places - shiny with use in others. It was lined with green fabric - maybe felt - on the inside and at least that part seemed to be new.

“As I told you, I keep my toys clean,” he said finally, leaning over Stiles and buckling it around his neck.

For a second or two Stiles couldn’t breath - and not from the collar being too tight.

There was a collar. On him.

Somehow, the fact that it was actually used, probably used by a _dog_ , just made the twisting, hot mess of feelings in his chest wound tighter. He had no idea what the fuck was going on inside him. He didn’t know if he liked it or hated it, but whatever it was, it had a hotline to his cock.

Fuck. He was getting turned on by this. Abruptly, his whole body turned red and itchy with the overwhelming, stark rush of shame.

He didn't even notice that he was making distressed little sounds in his throat until Alan started rubbing his shoulder.

"Hush now, we haven't even started... Let's get you into place," he said, grabbing Stiles' hips and turning him on his front.

He ended up on his knees with his ass high in the air; his shoulders were pushing into the bed, hands stretched back awkwardly with the way they were fixed to his ankles. The side of his face was smashed into the pillow, a small pool of saliva gathering underneath.

His cock was hanging half-hard between his legs.

Stiles closed his eyes, trying to shut out the humiliation of reality.

The bed groaned as Alan sat back beside him, running a cursory hand over the curve of his asscheek, making him shiver.

"Just a few finishing touches," he said, tying a short rope to the D ring of his collar and tethering him to the headboard. Stiles whined nervously, unable to stop the noises coming from him until that thumb delved into his mouth again, rubbing at his tongue almost soothingly for a few seconds.

“Do you need something to help keep your legs spread?” Alan asked with a knowing look.

Stiles felt like the ground slipped out from under him; he immediately tried to inch his knees together, heart hammering. He should have thought of that. That should have been the normal reaction, but it didn’t even cross his mind. What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Alright.” The manager turned back to his tool box and pulled out a gray PVC pipe that looked like the kind of thing plumbers would use. He ran a piece of rope through it and then proceeded to tie the ends around the bend of Stiles’ knees with the pipe between forcing them apart.

“There you go,” Alan said, uncaring of the desperate little noises coming from him. “Almost ready.”

Stiles tried squirming around, but all he could was moving his ass up and down a bit. With the improvised spreader bar in place he wasn’t even sure he could flop to his side… He was so caught up in pulling on his bindings, that he almost didn’t notice what Alan was holding now.

A fucking belt. It was wide and sturdy looking with a terrifyingly large brass buckle. Maybe now was the time to panic. Was it because he tried to run? Fuck, fuck, he didn’t know, okay? If only he could talk, he would apologize… He didn’t…

Alan picked up on the way his chest started heaving - the same way he seemed to pick up all the cues of his body - and rubbed a hand between his shoulder blades.

“That’s okay, no need to work yourself up. Nobody is going to injure you,” he said, exchanging the rubbing for running his palm slowly up and down along his spine. His voice was so fucking calm, face unreadable but somehow still honest that Stiles felt his breathing slow after a few moments of hanging on the verge of a panic attack. “Very good.”

He looked up at Alan with wet eyes, trying to convey how sorry he was for trying to run. It seemed to work.

“You are not getting punished,” he said, except the belt was still in his hand. “I _am_ going to hurt you, but not because you did something wrong. There doesn’t have to be a reason for it, and all you have to do is take it.”

No matter how many hours of painfully fake fetish porn Stiles watched on the net, he never imagined that it would be like this. Just… Nothing made sense. He didn’t know what Alan meant, he only knew that something – that felt a lot like need - got loose and tingly in his chest when he heard that he wasn’t being punished.

He was confused and shaky and crying a little, but Alan acted like all of it was completely normal.

The manager kept up the slow glide of his hand along Stiles’ back while he spoke, and then his hand continued downward, over the curve of his ass and lower. The fingers stopped for a second to caress his perineum and then to roll his balls between them before the clever digits settled on his almost completely deflated cock.

Stiles shivered. His skin felt new and sensitized with all his body hair gone down there and the fact that he couldn’t move away from the touch just added to the slowly growing pool of heat at the base of his spine.

Alan started tugging on his dick in a clinical, detached manner; just a constant, relentless pull and pull and pull until Stiles was hard as a diamond and precum was gathering at the tip of his erection. As soon as he started moving his hips to get more of that – not nearly enough – friction, the manager let go of him, making him moan at the loss.

Alan hummed under his breath in satisfaction. He put the belt down right by Stiles’ head, close enough that the smell of old leather filled his nose and picked out a shoestring and one of those little cord lock things from the toolbox, quickly threading the string through it. He kneeled behind Stiles and fitted the loop around the base of his cock and balls, pulling the ends tight, letting the piece of plastic keep it in place.

Stiles whined, his dick hardening a fraction more. He could feel it throbbing with the beat of his heart as it dangled between his legs.

Alan stood and picked up the belt again, waiting a few seconds, letting Stiles see him fold it in half and grip the ends together above the buckle so the bent part hang down loosely. Just looking at it was enough to make Stiles’ insides twist with a sickening mix of anticipation and terror.

The manager disappeared from his view and a few seconds later he could feel the loop of the belt gently trailing along his ass.

“I’m going to start hitting you now. You may squirm and you are allowed to be as loud as you need, but I’m not going to stop until I think you’ve had enough.”

He barely finished speaking when the first strike landed on Stiles’ ass with a loud, explosive crack, making him scream with shock. He sucked in a shaky breath, his brain struggling to even comprehend the sharp bite of the impact. It hurt. For an awful, scary second he couldn’t fill his lungs again, but before he could fall into a panic there was another blow across his cheeks forcing the air out of him and making him suck in a new one.

The belt kept on cracking against his skin relentlessly; the first few hits were even, fast and rhythmic, keeping time with his exhales, but as soon as his breathing ceased stuttering to a stop after every blow, the pattern changed.

It was worse. He couldn’t prepare. He didn’t see Alan, couldn’t hear him moving around. There would be a sequence of fast slaps on the exact same spot on his left asscheek in one minute - that he could barely scream through -, and then there would be long, empty seconds filled with the feeling of his skin being on fire and a deep, pulsing ache in his flesh before the belt came down hard across the top of his ass. He almost came then, his orgasm barely stopped by the string tight around it.

He was going crazy. After a while he lost his awareness of the outside and was left with nothing but the trembling in his muscles as he waited for the next strike. There were tears on his face and he was dimly conscious of making these high-pitched, breathy “ _hhuh_ ” noises after he lost the energy to scream. The pillow was drenched in saliva under his face.

He almost didn’t notice when it stopped. His eyelids were stuck together and it was hard to open them as Alan sat down next to him.

The man looked as composed as ever; he wasn’t even a bit out of breath while Stiles was drenched in sweat and panting noisily.

Alan swiped his messy hair out of his forehead, and then gently pushed his thumb into Stiles’ mouth. His tongue greeted the intruder with a caress, like it was an old friend.

The manager looked him up and down critically, taking note of the way all his limbs were taut and that there was a slight tremble in his bones that made his whole body shake from the inside.

“Very good. You’re almost there,” he said, unfazed by the way Stiles’ muscles locked up, because that meant that there was _more_. He couldn’t handle any more. He couldn’t. He… He was going to… to fucking break.

"Three more. You will take it," Alan said, looking into his eyes seriously. "You have no way to stop it from happening, and you need it."

No. No he didn’t need any more. What he needed was for this whole fucking thing to stop. He needed to be untied so he could jerk off and he needed to talk, dammit!

Alan left him to his anger, walking behind him again and running the flat of his palm over his blazing skin  - eliciting a groan from Stiles - and then loosened the cord lock that was keeping his cock all trussed up.

Stiles was so caught up in the constant stream of denial going on in his head, that the first strike took him by surprise. He screamed. He screamed until he ran out of breath, and then he filled his lungs again and screamed some more.

“Good,” Alan said, like it was some kind of an achievement that he was completely losing his shit.

Stiles turned his head into the pillow, and pulled on his bindings with all the strength he had left, his whole body sizing up. Faintly, he realized that the manager had been handling him with kid-gloves until now, because the hit he received now was on a whole different level. He was shaking uncontrollably.

The next one was just as bad. Stiles shuddered and made a wounded sound, his chest was heaving, his mind completely emptying out as the pain settled over him like a blanket.

He didn’t really feel the third. He knew he came, though it was somehow pushed into the background of his consciousness.

He was floating again, but without the chemical aftertaste of a drug, it was a strangely dual experience. His head was perfectly blank, wiped clean, calm. At the same time he knew - remotely - that he was sobbing, the ugly way with the blotched face and the snot. His body was jelly.

Alan untied his hands and pulled them up to lay beside his head on each side, holding his wrists down with warm, sure fingers even though he wasn’t fighting. If he said anything, Stiles didn’t hear it.

He had no idea how long it took, but the sensation slowly returned to his body. He felt uneasy for a second, not knowing how to… _function_ after what happened, but the hands holding him down were like foundation-stones that he could build himself up around.

He opened his eyes to Alan talking to him.

“There you are. You did very good. Can you lift your chest for me?” he asked, letting go of Stiles’ hands slowly and undoing the rope holding him to the headboard.

Stiles tried. It was hard, but he managed to push himself up, feeling pain radiating from his buttocks as his muscles adjusted. Alan took his face in his hands and cleaned it with a wet wipe, rubbing the hinge of his jaw. Stiles hoped that he would be freed of the gag, but the manager seemed to have other plans; he took out a mouth spray bottle and Stiles instinctively tried to jerk his head away - learning from past mistakes.

“It’s okay, it’s only water,” Alan said, holding his chin steady while he sprayed into his mouth. Stiles didn’t even notice how dry his palate became since he couldn’t reach it with his tongue.

Alan put the bottle aside and cradled Stiles’ face in both of his palms, peering at him from up close.

Stiles blinked dazedly, his elbows were kind of shaking.

“I think you need a nap,” Alan said, his face straight but his eyes smiling.

He untied the pipe from between Stiles’s legs and helped him shuffle away from the wet spot before stretching out on his stomach. He took hold of Stiles hands and started massaging the skin where it grew red from the friction of the ropes.

Stiles’ eyes were slipping shut before he could feel the straps of the gag getting undone.

***

When he woke up he was still on his stomach, but there was a hard-stuffed bolster pillow covered with a towel under his hips. His hands were fastened to the headboard and his legs tied to the corners of the bed.

He felt centered and focused, well, mostly focused on the two fingers working in his ass. The slide was smooth and wet, there was barely any stretch to it.

"Back with me?" Alan asked. It had to be a rhetorical question, because the ring was back in his mouth, though he distantly remembered it being removed at some point.

The slippery fingers kept pumping into his hole unhurriedly.

Stiles felt his cock - pulled back between the v of his thighs - filling slowly.

Alan's other hand started massaging his asscheek, dragging him out of the comfortable fuzzyness of sleep; his skin felt tight and hot, and there was a deep throbbing ache echoing the pain of the beating he received.

"You did very good so far... Now that you've rested up a bit it's time to continue. I think that you will learn some new things, hm?"

Stiles closed his eyes and concentrated on the sensation of getting fingered. He didn’t want to think about what he learned about himself. Wasn’t 20 too old to find out to find out that you were a maso... That maybe you liked pain?

“Have you ever been milked?” Alan asked, shifting his wrist and digging his fingers deep into Stiles’ channel. Stiles moaned as the digits zeroed in on his prostate with practised ease.

His cock jumped and then the manager took it into his hand - curling a loose fist around it - and started to rub the sensitive underside of the head with his thumb.

The fingers didn’t ease up; they weren’t fucking him anymore, just pressing and circling that spot that seemed to light up his whole body. Stiles’ mouth watered, the saliva slowly seeping into the pillow as his orgasm grew closer and closer, even though he already came twice in the last few hours.

Alan was relentless, working him with an almost medical precision until Stiles was coming with a shuddering breath, his muscles growing lax.

“Very good,” Alan said, but he didn’t stop his ministrations. “Again.”

Again? What? What did that mean? Stiles felt his nerve endings sing with electricity, the aftershocks of his orgasm turning harsh when the stimulations continued.

Okay, he was a college kid, but he wasn’t Superman; it felt impossible to get hard again, but with Alan rubbing his cock, he didn’t even get a chance to go fully soft.

Stiles began whimpering when it started to get too much - which was right after his first orgasm - but Alan didn’t seem to care. He could feel fluid dripping from his dick, he wasn’t sure it was come. He could hardly think, his prostate felt swollen under Alan’s fingers, over-sensitive.

The second time he came was like someone plucking his spinal cord; his toes curled up and all his extremities twitched uncontrollably; it felt more like pain tinged with pleasure than the other was around.

“Yes, that’s it. One more, to get you properly empty.”

No. No. No, no, no…  He tried shifting his hips away, but the fingers were following him mercilessly, not giving him even a second of rest. His stomach was taut with tension and his blood was simmering under his skin.

There was a constant, pathetic whine coming from his mouth. He didn’t know if his cock was even hard, it felt kind of numb with oversensitivity.

“It’s okay, you can do it. Just relax and let it happen.”

It was easier said than done. His whole body was protesting, but it was no use. He could feel the heat building under his navel, but instead of the usual steady warmth, it was boiling and bubbling and searing his insides.

Alan pushed down on his prostate hard and at the same instant shifted his hold, taking the head of his cock between two fingers and fucking  _pinched_.

Stiles shouted, a few tears running down his face at the pain of his release.

Finally, Alan took his hands off him.

“You did good,” he said, picking up some tissues and cleaning his hands. Stiles concentrated on not blacking out.

A few minutes passed in silence and he almost slipped right back into sleep when Alan released his left hand and tied it to the D ring of his collar.

Stiles was too wrung out to object; he let himself be untied and then maneuvered into kneeling on the floor between Alan’s legs, the wrist of his free right hand held tightly by the man.

Alan caressed his face, plunging his thumb into his mouth once again.

“Look at me.”

Stiles didn’t even notice he closed his eyes.

“There, that’s good. I need you to breath now,” he said, squeezing Stiles’ wrist. He was pretty sure he was already doing that, but he obeyed and took a deep breath.

“Yes, just like that. Keep doing it.”

Stiles did. He watched Alan’s calm face and took one breath after another. The finger in his mouth was moving, rubbing little circles into his tongue just like that first time in the bathroom. It felt like it happened ages ago.

“Very good. You are going to deepthroat me,” he said steadily, making Stiles’ next exhale stuter. He never did that before. Yeah, he had an oral fixation a mile wide, and he loved giving head, but the truth was that he always chickened out at the first sign of gagging. He didn’t know if he could do it.

Alan didn’t give any indication that he noticed his uncertainty

“We will go slow, and I will not let you get hurt, but we will continue until you take my whole cock to the base.”

Stiles closed his eyes and concentrated on the thumb playing with his tongue. It was easier.

“I need you to shuffle back a bit... Just like that, good, lean forward a few inches,” Alan ordered, tugging his head lower, in line with his crotch. “Keep your back straight. It will be best if your throat and your mouth are aligned.”

Stiles felt a bit unbalanced, especially since one of his hands was tied to his collar and the other still held firmly by Alan on the edge of the bed. Oh god. He didn’t know if he wanted to do this. Experimentally, he tried pulling his hand away but Alan just gave his wrist a warning squeeze and shot him an unimpressed look with an arched eyebrow.

“I already told you that you are going to do it. And, we have established that it doesn’t matter what you want, haven’t we?” he asked patiently, taking his palm from Stiles’ face as he started unfastening his jeans one-handed. Stiles felt a shiver run through his body. He tried to convince himself that it was the sweat cooling on his back, and not a whisper of aimless arousal that had nowhere to go with his dick so utterly spent.

Alan had a nice cock. It was a decent size - not pornstar big, but nothing to scoff at -, the skin was dark, almost purple with the blood filling it up. Knowing what he was expected to do, it seemed monstrous.

Stiles felt his mouth watering.

The manager took a dollop of white creme from a can Stiles couldn’t read the label of and smeared it on his dick, slicking it up thoroughly. He wiped his hand off on the bedcover and cupped the back of Stiles head, pulling him forward until the tip of his cock entered the ring keeping his mouth wide open and just rested it on the cushion of his tongue.

Stiles tensed up, expecting things to turn terrifying pretty fast, but Alan didn’t seem to be in a hurry, in fact, the fingers cradling him petted his hair softly.

He peeked up at the manager, and before he could stop himself, his tongue was wriggling around trying to get a taste. Whatever Alan used as lube tasted a bit cloying, but surprisingly familiar.

Alan hummed contentedly, rocking his hips in tiny movements, just letting the motions rub his erection into Stiles without really pushing.

They kept at it for a few moments, Alan silently encouraging Stiles to explore, letting him get a feel for the weight of the hard flesh in his mouth.

“Very nice,” the man said finally, squeezing his wrist. “Can you extend your tongue for me?” he asked and Stiles obeyed without a thought.

Alan slowly pulled his head forward, watching with rapt attention as his cock slid deeper. Stiles tried breathing through his nose and keeping himself calm, but a few inches in he felt himself gagging. He wanted to pull back, eyes going wide, but Alan’s hand kept him in place without hesitation.

“It’s okay, swallow, take a breath,” he dictated, stopping his progress, but not backing off either.

Stiles did as he was told, terrified of throwing up or suffocating, but after a few tries, the urge did actually subside.

“Excellent, you’re doing good.”

They stayed like that for a few seconds, but then inevitably he was pulled forward again at a glacial pace. Stiles kept swallowing, because it seemed to help with keeping his reflexes at bay, but soon enough he was gagging again, and this time it was harder to get it under control. He tried to shake Alan’s hand off in alarm but the man had a strong grip on him, keeping him in place without trouble. Stiles felt the muscles in his stomach contracting, fighting to keep down whatever he ate last, and to his utmost humiliation he ended up belching around the dick crammed into his mouth. Even though - miraculously - he finally managed to fight down the gagging, he still felt tears gathering in his eyes. He didn’t dare look up, hoping that Alan would let it slide, but of course that wasn’t what happened.

“Everything’s okay. It’s a completely natural reaction.”

After what felt like an ice-age of keeping him still, Alan slowly pulled out of Stiles’ mouth.

He didn’t understand the swell of failure in his chest, because 30 seconds ago, he was all about stopping, but somehow he couldn’t bear the thought of apparently not being able to do it.

“We are not finished,” Alan said calmingly, probably reading something in his eyes. “Any deeper, and I’m going to reach the part where I will block your air. I need you to take a few deep breath before we continue.”

Stiles closed his eyes in relief and filled his lungs. Oxygenating the blood was crucial in the training of pear hunters - a slightly hysterical part of his brain informed him. It seemed his late night web surfing binges were paying off finally.

“Good.”

He was pulled in again, the head of Alan’s cock sliding in almost easily to about halfway. They had to stop again where they left off for Stiles to swallow his reflex back, and then Allan inched him slowly and carefully onto his cock.

Stiles felt his eyes watering as they passed the point where he couldn’t breathe anymore; the tears running down his cheeks and dripping onto the floor. He had been sure that he would panic as soon as his oxygen got cut off, but he managed to hold on for a few seconds before he started to retch.

This time, Alan pulled back almost completely; only leaving the head of his cock on Stiles tongue and just rubbing it there - like his thumb did earlier -, allowing him to catch his breath.

“Again,” Alan said, and they did it again. And then again, and again, stopping every time Stiles was about to throw up.

It was going so slow that he had the impression that they weren’t making any progress. At least that’s what he thought, until, on the next gentle glide he felt the head of Alan’s cock bump past his tonsils after pushing past the slight resistance.

Stiles swallowed convulsively, because he immediately gagged, and Alan’s fingers spasmed on the back of his head.

He almost thought that he imagined it, but when the man pulled out and he got a good look on his face he could see a few drops of sweat on Alan's temples.

Stiles couldn’t stop the warm bubble of pride in his chest as he realized that he did that.

So far, he hardly saw anything from Alan other than a quiet, calm confidence and compared to that, he was practically disheveled now.

Of course, he watched enough porn to know that swallowing while having someone in your throat was supposed to feel great for the receiver, but the theoretical knowledge and the reality were completely different.

He was enthusiastic now, and it apparently paid off, because the next time he was pulled on to the hard cock, he actually did it. He had one victorious second where he could smell the detergent of the man's shirt as his nose touched the fabric and then Alan withdrew completely, leaving his mouth strangely empty. He was smiling down at Stiles.

"You did wonderfully," he said, letting go of his head and caressing his cheek almost affectionately.

Even though Stiles was half terrified when they started, now he couldn't help feeling disappointed that it was over, but he didn’t need to be.

"We're still not finished, though," Alan commented, trailing his fingers down to Stiles' neck and lightly tugging on the collar there.

"I'm going to fuck your throat now, but first, I need you to do something," Alan said, cupping his palm around Stiles' neck, and just resting it there. "I'm going to let go of your hand, and you are going to reach down and start playing with yourself."

Stiles blinked at him in confusion; there was no way he could get hard again, it wasn't fair to even ask.

"I know you won't be able to come, but you need to keep your hand there."

When his wrist was let free Stiles hesitated for a few seconds, flexing his fingers in indecision, but Alan kept looking at him expectantly, so he did as he was told.

His cock was still completely soft and the naked, flaccid weight of it felt jarring; he almost forgot that he was shaved now.

"Very good, you don't need to jerk off, just keep it in your hand."

Alan cradled his face in both palms and dug his fingers into the hinges of his jaw, massaging out the tension.

"I'm not going to stop until I come, and you will not let go of your cock," he commanded evenly.

The manager dragged one hand back behind his head and placed the other gently on his throat before pulling him forward.

Stiles choked once on the first try, but Alan waited him out until he could bottom out. Feeling his neck distend against the palm cupping it was probably the strangest thing Stiles has ever experienced.

He found that deepthroating was much less difficult once he knew that he could actually do it, it was almost easy at first; he kept swallowing and flexing his muscles to open himself as far as possible. He timed his breathing to the slick, even slide of the cock in and out of him. Alan didn’t pull out completely after reaching the bottom anymore; only to the point around halfway where Stiles could take in some air through his nose.

“Excellent,” Alan told him, and the next time he was all the way in, he just… stayed there. It couldn’t have been more than three seconds, but Stiles felt his heart speed up with anxiety, his fingers twitching around his oversensitive cock.

“An average, healthy young man can hold his breath for at least 30 seconds without problem,” Alan said calmly, inching out to let him suck in a noisy breath through his nose before pulling his head forward again. “Of course, that requires the body to be relaxed and calm.”

Stiles felt his throat fluttering around the obstacle blocking it as his lungs started burning. One second, two, three… five… Alan backed out slowly before drawing  him in again.

“With proper training, that time can be extended to several minutes.”

He felt his eyes widen, his hand unconsciously lifting to push the man away in panic.

“Back,” Alan ordered firmly. There was no anger behind his words, but Stiles dropped his hand like it was slapped.

“We won’t be attempting any of that now, but I want you to get used to the idea of taking a cock in to the root and staying there for as long as your partner wants you to.” Alan said, so fucking calm, keeping him in place again for long seconds before letting him breath. “I know you would grow to love it.”

Stiles didn’t know that. He didn’t even want to think about it. He closed his eyes, mechanically sucking in air when he could, and enduring the rest.

His fingers tightened around the softness of his cock; there was something inherently degrading about doing this while not being aroused. In all his experiences with giving head it was always a give-and-take; he loved doing it, but the certainty of somehow getting reciprocation was alway hovering on the horizon.

Not now. Now he was flaccid without a chance of getting any pleasure for himself, and the feeling of Alan’s silky hardness entering him carefully again and again just drove it home.

His eyes were leaking tears and he… he just… he couldn’t help but finger his limp dick. He had no idea why he was doing it; fondling, squeezing aimlessly until it almost hurt, rubbing his digits over the naked skin of his vulnerable sack, feeling the shape of his balls hanging empty between his legs…

He didn’t usually touch himself down there unless it was either to clean up, to piss or to get himself off, but never like this.

There was a tightening knot of tension growing in the pit of his stomach; part of it was shame,  the rest a directionless, futile desire for something. It might have been arousal, but it had nowhere to go and his brain tried desperately to find an outlet for it.

There was only one thing he could concentrate on.

He blinked the wetness from his eyes - willing to do _anything_ to be able to focus that bundle of nervous yearning on something tangible - and tried to open his throat even wider, needing Alan to take what he had to give.

“Yes, that’s it, just give it up and let it happen,” Alan said. Stiles wanted that composure gone.

He swallowed around the head of the cock jammed deep into his throat; not to stop himself from gagging, just to feel the tightening of the fingers holding him down. He inched his tongue forward under the heavy weight of Alan’s dick, suddenly thirsty for a taste of the sweat that gathered on the coarse hair at the base of it. He felt almost distressed when Alan pulled back to let him breath, but thankfully he didn’t wait long before dipping back again. Stiles choked in his eagerness to get inside and for the first time he didn’t take the chance to stop when the man immediately stilled to allow him get through it, but pushed forward letting the drag of the flesh sooth the reflex.

Alan breathed out through his nose loudly, squeezing his throat for a second.

“Easy, easy,” he said, fisting his fingers into the hair at the back of his head, slowing him down. Alan locked his eyes to his and rubbed his hand over his throat soothingly.

“I’m going to come soon, I want you to take it,” he said and Stiles moaned around his cock.

He _wanted_ it, wanted it so much that his whole body flushed with it. He was kneeling between a near-stranger's legs with tear-tracks drying on his face and saliva dripping down his chin, but he thought he never wanted anything more in his life.

He was made to wait and breath through his nose for long, torturous seconds.

When he was finally pulled forward, Alan cradled his head close to his stomach and rutted into his mouth without letting up. Stiles couldn’t see anything but the blue of his shirt and then felt his eyes roll back to his head as the man just kept rocking into him relentlessly. His throat was raw, convulsing around the invasion, lungs burning, heart beating faster than he thought possible.

For a second there were tiny, gray spots dancing in the edge of his vision, but then Alan’s cock twitched and thickened and he felt the incomparable sensation of something splashing straight into his throat and trickle down along the abused walls. It was such an alien feeling, that he started gagging uncontrollably as the cock pulled back, certain that he won’t be able to stop himself from throwing up, but Alan didn’t let him; he tipped his chin back and started rubbing his neck with steady, downward strokes.

“That’s it, you did beautifully, keep swallowing, yes, just like that…”

Stiles noted absently that he sounded awfully composed for someone who just had an orgasm, but was too busy fighting the urge to vomit while gulping down air to get indignant about it.

“Good, very good, I’m very pleased with you,” Alan said. Stiles’ whole body shuddered.

It took him a few minutes to get his stomach under control, and by then he was exhausted beyond belief, he just kind of swayed forward, letting Alan catch him by the shoulders.

He concentrated on the sensation of fingers playing in his hair and then felt his gag being unclasped and very gently pried out of his mouth.

“Don’t talk, you have to rest your throat,” Alan told him, magicking a bottle of room temperature water out from somewhere and holding it up for Stiles to drink. He was fed small sips until the whole thing was gone.

He felt everything catch up with him; his jaw hurt, his ass was still burning, his whole body was achy from having been tied up in awkward positions and it was painful to swallow. He just wanted to _rest_.

Alan undid the rope on his left hand and lifted him up with surprising ease. Stiles was distantly aware of being placed on the bed, but he was too tired to open his eyes - or do anything really - so he just let himself be covered by a blanket and slipped into sleep.

  



	2. Saturday - Afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who have read this fic so far, I'm very happy from all the attention!
> 
> I had to make a decision about this chapter when I realized that I was 8k in, and only about 2/3 of the way... I decided to cut it, and post a shorter part now, and in a few days you should get the other half of the story of Stiles' Saturday escapades. I hope you guys don't mind...

Stiles woke to pale winter light shining from the window of the room. For a few minutes he had a hard time orienting himself, but then he shifted and had to hiss as his ass rubbed against the sheets.

Remembering was like being sloshed in the face with a bucket of cold water.

He sat up, and breathed a sigh of relief at finding himself alone; Deaton was nowhere to be seen, but unfortunately his clothes and his bag were also missing.

What was even more unfortunate was that his hands were tied; even though there was about one feet of rope between them - allowing for some movement - it was pulled through the D ring of his collar. He tried getting at the buckle at the back of his head, but he could only reach it with one hand at a time, making it impossible to undo.

He tried the knots on his wrist next, but they wouldn’t budge; the manager must have been a fucking boy scout or something.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” His throat was raspy, but not as bad as he feared, he must have slept for a long time.

He got up and went to the bathroom, hoping to find something to cut his ropes with. His stomach was churning with memories; he had no idea what happened last night, he hadn't been behaving like a normal person. He… His emotions were all over the place. Stiles tried to console himself that it had been the drug that Deaton sprayed in his face, or some kind of early-onset Stockholm syndrome. There was no other explanation, because it was in no way possible that he enjoyed… that he _liked_ what happened.

There was a relatively large mirror above the sink and he tried to have a look at his backside; the skin was still slightly pink, but thankfully he couldn’t see anything more serious. Stiles glanced around in the hopes of finding something useful - gaze nervously skipping over the bathtub - but other than some shower gel, a pack of disposable razors, clean towels and some random bathroom things there wasn't anything.

He was so engrossed in his search, that he didn’t hear Deaton come up from behind. There was suddenly a pair of arms around him; one clamping over his mouth, the other trapping his bound hands against his chest.

Stiles shouted in surprise and tried to kick out, but he missed his target and was unceremoniously dragged back into the room. The manager was holding him tightly, but not painfully and then he was tossed to the bed, ending up on his back with Alan straddling his midsection.

The hand was back on his mouth before he had a chance to cry for help.

"Good morning," the man said evenly, unfazed by finding him in the middle of an escape attempt.

Stiles tried throwing him off, but his ass was hanging off the edge of the bed and it was hard to find enough momentum. Alan was holding both his hands by the wrists in a secure hold.

"It's Saturday afternoon, you had a good eight hours of sleep. I expected that you would wake up in a mood, but it's okay now, I've got you."

Stiles narrowed his eyes in anger. Nothing was fucking _okay_. He wanted to be left alone, for fuck's sake! Who knew what this goddamn psychopath was planning?

Deaton just arched an eyebrow in the face of his pissed off expression.

"We are going to clean you up a bit first, get some food into you, then I will give you something to help focus yourself," he said decisively, squeezing Stiles’s wrist for a second.

"I will let you have your gag back after you've eaten, but until then, I want you to keep quiet. No talking."

Yeah, right. Like that's going to happen. Stiles tried to look cooperative; anything to get that hand off his mouth, and then... Well, he was sure he will be able to babble himself out of this rotten situation.

Alan lifted his palm slowly. Stiles swallowed and licked his lips; this was his time to shine.

"Liste..."

Alan slapped him without warning, the sound of it echoing through the room.

"No talking."

Stiles gasped in shock, feeling pain bloom across his cheek. It wasn't so hard to leave a bruise, but it was enough to turn his head into the bed cover.

"I d..."

The second hit landed on the exact same spot.

"No talking," Alan repeated patiently.

His heart was hammering with something he didn’t want to analyze.

"Bu..."

He  was slapped again, this time the sting was worse, but only because his face already hurt from the last two.

He blinked up at the man in a daze. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Alan looked back at him evenly, there was no hint of anger in his expression.

Stiles licked his lips again, squeezing his eyes together when the manager reached for him, but all he felt were cool fingers caressing his blazing cheek.

"If you like it so much, I'm sure we can arrange something, but for now I need you to stop talking."

That... that _wasn’t_ it. Stiles was a talker, that's all, nothing else. His cock twitched in futile eagerness, but it seemed he still wasn't up for an erection.

"Are you finished?"

Stiles nodded, trying to calm his breathing, there was nothing to be excited about.

***

Alan led him into the shower stall, if he noticed Stiles' breath quickening when they passed the tub, he didn’t let it on.

His hands were released and then they were bound to the grab bar that was screwed to the wall. Alan made him lean forward and tethered him by his collar there as well, leaving just enough rope not to make his head touch the tiles.

The man took the detachable shower head and rinsed him down with warm water that felt heavenly on his sore muscles. Next, he was rubbed from head to toe with a soapy washcloth; Alan didn’t linger, his touch was firm and throughout. His balls and cock were cleaned, the residual slick wiped away from his crack. Stiles closed his eyes as Alan ran the cloth over his smooth armpits, somehow finding that more intimate than the rest. His hair was shampooed and then he was showered down again until all the suds were down the drain.

Alan didn’t let him up while he toweled him down; Stiles thought he never felt more rattled than when the manager knelt down to carefully rub his legs and his feet, taking care to dry between the toes too.

His hands were left free after, and he was allowed to relieve himself under Alan’s watchful gaze that made his whole body flush from the intrusive attention.

Back in the room Alan sat down in the armchair and pulled Stiles down to sit sideways on his lap. It should have felt ridiculous, but when his hands were clasped together behind his back in a strong grasp, he had a hard time finding it funny.

There was a tray on the table with a sandwich packed full of turkey, cheese and veggies and Alan proceeded to feed it to him bite after bite. It was embarrassing, but at the first taste of tomato bursting on his tongue Stiles realized how hungry he actually was.

When the food was gone Alan picked up the already opened bottle of water and let him have a sip before exchanging it to a little white pill and holding it expectantly up to him.

Stiles' immediate reaction was to clamp his mouth shut. He wasn’t _completely_ stupid, thank you very much.

"It's your Adderall," Alan explained calmly.

It was hard to say for sure, there could have been a dozen drugs that had the same shape and size, but Stiles did take it after a second of hesitation with a leap of faith. He had no idea if his heart sped up because the manager went through his things or because he was thoughtful enough to get him his medication.

He was given the rest of the water in small sips, not even noticing himself slowly relaxing into Alan’s warm body until it was time to get up.

He scrambled off the man's lap, stomach doing uncertain flips. What the hell was he doing getting comfy? The logical part of his brain screamed at him to bolt for the door, but before he could come to a decision Alan was already herding him back to the bathroom to wash his teeth.

The taste of toothpaste gave him a sense of normality, except that Alan was standing close behind his back, watching him in the mirror. Stiles couldn't help playing with the slightly crazy thought that maybe the manager was timing him to see if he did a good enough job.

As soon as he put down the toothbrush Alan was on him; his hands were pulled back, but this time his whole forearms were bound together, making his chest slightly puff out.

Having his front so exposed made him feel more vulnerable than usual so he made a halfhearted attempt to get away, but Alan had a secure hold on him. He squeezed his teeth together to stop himself from crying out in frustration.

"That's okay, you can have your gag back in a second."

He was strong armed into the room  and pushed down to the floor beside the bed. Alan sat down on the edge of the mattress and pulled and prodded him until he was kneeling sideways in the v of the manager’s legs.

Alan pulled out the toolbox from under the bed - Stiles mentally kicked himself for not checking there while he was looking for a way out - and pulled out the ring-gag.

It was the first time Stiles could actually have a look at it; it wasn’t store-bought, just a hard plastic ring with stripes attached to it - probably from a waist pack.

"Open up," Alan said, voice casual. Stiles obeyed almost automatically, his heart rate picking up in panic a second too late, when the buckle already clicked into place at the back of his head. His insides churned, because - _shit_ \- he just did it without thinking.

He tried to wiggle away with renewed enthusiasm, but the man just squeezed his thighs together and he was effectively trapped.

"Everything is alright. You are doing good. I'm going to help you let go," Alan promised, hooking his fingers into the back of his collar and pulling, so he had to arch his upper body over the man's thigh.

Alan slowly stroked his chest with a warm palm soothingly, then picked up a red fly-swatter from the box. Stiles felt his eyes bulge.

"Don't worry, it's brand new," the man said, before unceremoniously slapping his left nipple with it. Hard.

Stiles cried out, wanting to curl forward from the bite of it and almost choking himself on his collar that Alan still held fast. The manager rubbed the plastic net over his stinging bud and then hit him again and again quickly, unfazed by the way Stiles' body jerkedbetween his legs with each one.

Stiles never considered his chest area to be particularly erogenous, but the way his flesh throbbed under the assault seemed to have a straight connection to his cock that tried valiantly to twitch back to life.

It was different from getting beaten with the belt; for one, the fly-swatter had a texture that gave the blows a little extra smarting. His nipple on the other hand went tight and stiff after the first impact and there was a prickly kind of pain throbbing from inside it that made Stiles pant and break out in a sweat.

Alan stopped shortly after Stiles went lax in his hold, when his overworked muscles gave up the fight and just went gooey. The manager let go of his collar, and helped him to straighten out, keeping his hand between his shoulder-blades, while gently running his fingers around his abused pectoral with the other.

“Come on, look at it,” he said, and again, Stiles obeyed without reservation.

He couldn’t help the pathetic, needy moan that tore out from his throat; his nipple was dark red and slightly swollen, peaked into a hard nub, the skin around it was pink and throbbing with his heartbeat. Just the sight of it was enough to get Stiles’ insides twist with need.

Alan slid up his hand to the back of his neck and hold on as his fingers circled closer and closer to his nipple, dragging across the abused skin. Stiles was breathing hard as he watched until his bud was taken between the man’s thumb and index finger and _twisted_. He wanted to hiss, but with his mouth propped open he could only whine. There was saliva running down his chin and dripping onto his chest. He felt dizzy.

“It’s already beautiful,” Alan commented, letting go of his tender flesh. “I bet it feels lovely too, but I know we can do even better…”

Stiles shook his head. He already felt like he was about to shake apart, it was a bit scary. Alan just squeezed his neck and picked out something from his box, hiding it in his palm before he could take a peek.

“I want you to close your eyes for a second,” he said, waiting patiently while Stiles struggled with himself. He didn’t want to do it. He had no idea what Alan had in his hand but he was sure it would hurt. He didn’t want that. Still, a quiet, insistent part of him kept urging him on to just do it and let himself be taken care of. He shook his head again, mostly at himself, he didn’t understand this, he didn’t get how being hurt could translate into care…

His nipple was throbbing, he almost expected it to be visibly pulsating with the pain, but nothing was moving other than his heaving chest.

Stiles swallowed and closed his eyes.

“Very good,” Alan told him in a near whisper and then, just as he feared, his nipple ignited with bright... _ecstatic_ pain. For an instant or two he didn’t know if he was breathing or not, his eyes snapped open, staring unblinkingly at the wooden clothespin biting into his nipple.

It was too much after only a few seconds.

He knew there was no way to get it off, but his mind flat-lined and he started to trash around, trying to free his arms, to get some relief from what he was experiencing, but it was no use.

Alan held his body firmly and dragged him up to the bed, holding him in place with one hand on his stomach and the other on his collarbone as he kept fighting, kicking his legs and throwing his head from side to side.

When he finally exhausted himself there were tears on his face and he was constantly making that annoying, high-pitched huhh noise again. He wasn’t sure if he was just starting to imagine things, or if the pain did actually slightly lessen.

"You did good, " Alan said, looking down at him with a serious expression, his eyes alight with warmth. He slid his hand lower, taking Stiles’s dick in his grip and pulling firmly.

Oh god, he was hard.

Stiles closed his eyes, wanting to be ashamed, but ending up just basking in the complementary sensations of pain and pleasure zigging through his body. He was getting close fast, but Alan let him go before he had a chance to finish.

The man didn’t speak until he was looking up at him again.

"I'm going to take it off, it's going to hurt even worse than putting it on," he said calmly. "and when I do, you are going to come." His voice was so sure and confident that Stiles found himself nodding in agreement before even understanding. Then the words sank in and he shook his head desperately, trying to say no but only managing to moan inarticulately.

He turned his head away as he saw Alan lift his hand, trying to brace himself for what was coming, but nothing could prepare him for reality.

He arched off the bed with a scream as the blood rushed back into his nipple, lighting his flesh on fire

In an instant Alan was leaning over him and taking his abused nub into his mouth, licking gently at his aurola and kissing the tip.

Stiles didn’t think he have ever felt anything like it; the wet caress was almost soothing, completely at odds with the blazing pain and when Alan hollowed his cheeks and sucked, he finally came.

His vision whited out for a few seconds and when he opened his eyes again he saw Alan wipe jizz from the side of his jaw - apparently his orgasm was as explosive as it felt. The manager noticed him looking and gave him an arched eyebrow. The deadpan expression on his face made Stiles want to giggle.

The man smiled down at him and offered his hand, there was a string of come stuck to the outside of his little finger.

"Lick," he ordered and Stiles did, shivering at the taste, it wasn’t like he never tried it before, but it was different with the flavor of Alan’s skin underneath it.

The manager patted his stomach before standing up.

"Stay where you are, I will be right back." He didn't even look at him as he walked out the door, leaving Stiles to his own devices.

He faintly thought about getting up, but it was only a passing idea. He felt light and bubbly and as much as he refused to face it, it probably wasn’t just because he came a few minutes ago.

He stared at the ceiling without his mind grabbing any of the million thoughts chasing around in his head. He learnt to live with his brain being in a constant state of disarray, but now he didn’t feel the urge to start obsessing over any one of them. It was almost peaceful.

He only turned his head when the door creaked open, revealing Alan, who was holding a bunch of clothing. His clothes. For a dreadful second Stiles thought he was about to be kicked out, his chest filling with ice shards at the idea, but then Alan was talking.

"As a much as I like playing, I do actually have some work to do, and you're coming with me."

He helped Stiles up, undid his arms, but immediately tied his wrist back together behind his back before he could get any ideas - not like he was planning on running again, but still, he found it somehow safer that he couldn’t... They got the jeans on him in a team effort - foregoing the underwear - and his hoodie was pulled over his chest, the sleeves handing empty at his sides.

Alan got his sockless feet into his sneakers and herded him out the door. The freezing winter air slapped Stiles in the face, knocking him out of his warm afterglow; seeing the closed doors, his jeep in the parking lot, just the usual, normal things around him made his skin flush.

"There's noone here right now," the man assured him, seeing his eyes sweep the premises nervously.

The walk to the office was short but it still made Stiles' heartbeat pick up to be out in broad daylight with a gag in his mouth and his hands bound. The inside of his hoodie rubbed roughly against his overworked nipple, making a weird contrast to the other side of his chest. His untouched nub twinged in sympathy.

He barely even noticed how cold it actually was until they finally stepped into the heated office, too busy with worrying over getting seen. Alan didn't waste time, he quickly and efficiently undressed Stiles - like clothes were personally offending him - uncaring that someone could happen to pick that moment to drive by to get a room.

Stiles sighed in relief when he was led behind the reception desk and made to kneel, grateful to be out of sight.

There were sounds of the manager shuffling around papers on the top, maybe looking for something - he couldn’t be sure from his position -, then a few seconds of silence. When Alan crouched down in front of him he was holding an old, ugly tie and a piece of string that was attached to a larger paperclip - though it was bent and folded so out of shape that it was almost unrecognizable.

Alan dangled the wire contraption in front of his face and then proceeded to hook it into his nostrils, pulling the string over his head and tying it to his collar at the back, forcing the tip of his nose upwards uncomfortably. Stiles shivered, his eyelashes fluttering shut. He'd seen this in porn before. He knew how it made him look;  like… like a… a pig. Holy shit. He was wearing a _nose-hook_. He didn't think he’ve ever felt so exposed.

Alan ran the pad of his thumb over his tongue - pausing for a second to push down on the slick muscle - and then rubbed the saliva over the vulnerable underside of his nose. His eyes looked dark and intense.

“This is a lovely look on you,” he said with certainty, like it was an indisputable fact of nature. Stiles knew it wasn’t, it couldn’t be, not with his mouth splayed open around the gag and his nose disfigured so humiliatingly, but he still felt a swell of warmth in his chest.

Alan helped him shuffle under the counter, there was a hoop screwed to the inside of it, and he used the tie to tether him to it with only enough give that his bound hands could fit behind him.

The manager stood, stepping close and continued looking at him kneeling there as he opened his zipper, he didn’t push his jeans down, just pulled his hard cock out through the opening. Stiles swallowed, his throat was still a bit scratchy, but he wasn’t in a position to say no. He didn’t know if he would even want to.

Alan didn’t seem to be in hurry - if their positions were reversed Stiles would probably be already humping something with an erection that angry looking - but the manager seemed to have a bottomless well of self control.

For long minutes he just kept rubbing the darkly flushed head of his dick into Stiles’s skin, smearing precome over his cheeks, the side of his nose, his chin, collecting the saliva seeping from his mouth to make the slide smoother.

By the time he got bored with it Stiles’s mouth was so thirsty for it, his mouth was overflowing with drool. His eyes slipped shut when Alan finally relented and pushed into him, the taste of him somehow soothing his nerves. The manager didn't go too deep, his hand was fisted around the base and he kept thrusting shallowly against Stiles' tongue or the inside of his cheek. Stiles couldn’t help moaning, couldn’t help imagining the sight he made, trapped under the counter with his features converted into an unrecognizable grimace, the side of his face bulging with a fat cock and eyes glazed over...

The cock in his mouth twitched and Stiles waited in anticipation for the splash of bitterness on his tongue, but it never came; Alan pulled out in the last second and stripped his dick with a tight fist. He came almost silently - with only a hint of a grunt - shooting his come over Stiles’s face. A string of it landed across his right eye, he barely managed to close it in time, but he could still see a sticky drop clinging to his eyelashes.

Alan wiped the head of his cock on his tongue, and then proceeded to run his index finger through the mess on his face, scooping up a dollop of the cooling goo and smearing it just inside his stretched nostrils with a satisfied hum. Stiles felt his eyes roll back, the salty, bitter smell overpowering his senses.

He expected Alan to tuck himself away, but instead the man just caressed the line of his jaw with the back of his fingers and pushed his slowly softening cock back into his mouth.

“Keep me warm while I’m busy,” he ordered, withdrawing his hand and going to work on whatever hotel managers actually did.

***

Stiles didn’t know how long he knelt there, he was aware of his knees aching from staying in the same position, so it must have been a while. His own junk was half-hard, but there was no urgency behind it, just a slow buzz of arousal.

At one point Alan reached down without saying anything and used the saliva clinging to Stiles’ chin to wet his nostrils and the smell of jizz grew intense again.

He was kind of jittery at first, expecting something to happen, but after Alan’s dick went soft in his mouth and it became clear that he really was just required to cradle it on the cushion of his tongue he slowly grew relaxed and... calm. Everything seemed to be still, he could faintly hear the sound of pen on paper as Alan worked, but below the counter it was just him with his mouthful of responsibility.

As he got more and more used to it, a small, unidentifiable part of him started to flutter with a peaceful kind of satisfaction that made his chest feel light.

He was so deep in his own head, that the only warning he got when someone came into the office was the twitch of Alan’s cock, even though he probably should have heard the engine of the arriving car.

“Hey, got a room for me?” said someone with a rough, gruff voice. He didn’t sound particularly friendly, though there was some familiarity behind his words.

“Raf, good evening. The missus locked you out again?” Alan asked, unbothered by the tone.

Stiles was so startled by the visitor that he immediately tried to pull away, but Alan reached down casually and fisted his hand in his hair, keeping him in place effortlessly.

"Shit, don't even start! All a man needs is food on the table, a drink in the hand and a pussy to fuck, it isn't motherfucking rocket science! But that cow can only provide the first decently and then she keeps yapping when I go out for the other two."

Alan made a noncommittal noise. His cock was filling steadily in Stiles’s mouth.

He was too scared to move, afraid of alerting this Raf guy to his presence, his heart was hammering in his throat and it was getting harder to breath with Alan’s dick growing fatter by the second.

The hand in his hair started to urge his head to bob back and forth in tiny increments.

"Well, you can find dinner and beer in the bar..." Alan offered "and I might be able to arrange some entertainment for the evening."

Stiles almost choked, only the certainty of getting caught stopping him. His whole body started to tremble with tension.

"Is that right?" Raf's voice was deep and hungry, there was a creak from the counter as he leaned against it.

"I think you would enjoy him," Alan promised, his hand was pulling hard on Stiles' hair and his own cock twitched in time with the manager's.

"He? I don't know about that... guys aren't my usual choice," Raf said with barely veiled distaste.

"It could work, with some adjustments"

There was silence for a few seconds, Raf probably thinking it over.

"How much?" he asked finally.

Alan thrust his hips forward, burying his cock in Stiles’s throat while disguising it as a shrug.

"I'm using him for free, I don’t see why you should be paying."

"Deal," Raf said, exchanging some more words with the manager that Stiles couldn’t pay attention to; he was busy with the gray spots dancing in his vision and his dick jerking and bobbling between his legs.

He could still hear Raf's car driving away - probably to the Diner at the truck stop - when Alan was already reaching for him, cradling his face and fucking it unhurriedly. It seemed the urgency left with the guest, but he was still moving faster than yesterday.

Stiles used what he learned and timed his breathing, swallowing when needed. His own skin was buzzing with the scare of almost getting seen. He worked his tongue as best as he could, wanting Alan to display more of the uncharacteristic need he showed earlier; it wasn't fair that he was the only one on a constant emotional rollercoaster.

The manager was back to his usual, controlled self though, he kept his thrusts from going too deep, mindful of Stiles’ raw throat. Again, he pulled out before finishing.

"Close your eyes," he commanded and a second later Stiles felt come hitting his forehead, slightly off center. It slowly trickled down over his brow and the inside of his eye then continued along the line of his nose like a sticky, white teardrop until it reached his gaping mouth and stopped on the edge of his upper lip.

Stiles opened his eyes, feeling his skin pull with the come that already dried from the first shot.

Alan didn’t make any move to clean him up, obviously satisfied with the sight of his face drenched in his juices, and pushed his flaccid cock back inside his open mouth.

He went back to working.

Stiles made a small, disgruntled noise, shifting on his knees. His cock was almost painfully hard and sorely neglected.

"I promised Raf to meet him in two hours, we have plenty of time to get you ready", Alan commented offhandedly and then ignored him.

***

It was dark outside when they got back to the room. Before they left, Alan disappeared into his quarters behind the office and filled a plastic bag with god knows what and was now rummaging through it.

Stiles was sitting on the chair, still filthy, but at least the nose-hook was gone; left behind on the counter.

He was nervous. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to do this with Raf, even though he seemed exactly the kind of guy he expected when he came here looking for room 27.

"Rafael," Alan explained conversationally "is a simple creature. No matter what he claims, he doesn't actually mind fucking men." He pulled out a crimson stripe of fabric that Stiles would have taken for some kind of scarf.

"What he does mind," the manager continued "is anything that threatens his masculinity. All we need to do is present you in a way that negates his concerns. Stand up."

Stiles did, with hesitation. He'd been jittery since Raf left and his previous erection shrunk back to half-mast.

Alan gave him a long, asserting look.

"It will be a... different experience, but I know you are going to love every second of it, no matter what your brain is telling you right now." He seemed awfully sure about it, but Stiles had a hard time believing him. Alan must have seen it in his eyes, because he reached out and cupped his palm around his neck.

"I will be staying right here and watch," he said reassuringly "but unless something goes terribly wrong, Rafael may have you however he wants."

Stiles shivered.

"It's not up for discussion, so there's no use worrying about it," he finished dismissively, turning his attention back to the dark red cloth.

It wasn't a scarf, it was a thin, strapless dress that had holes going down both sides. The fabric was a bit bunched at the bust, creating a neckline that probably looked good on someone who actually had breasts, but had to be ridiculous on Stiles. He hated it. The hem of the dress barely covered the swell of his ass and it was too tight for a guy who was used to flannel and t-shirts.

Alan though, seemed to be satisfied with what he saw and made him sit back down again. The next thing he pulled out was a pair of neon-pink fishnet thigh-highs. The right one had a hole at the knee.

"You would be surprised by what you can find left behind in motel rooms," he commented as he rolled them up over Stiles’s legs.

He made an instinctive noise of disgust through his gag and the corner of Alan’s mouth twitched upwards.

"Everything’s been washed, of course."

That was good to know, especially since the next item of clothing was a purple, zebra printed thong. Actually, it was just a little triangle with a bunch of cords, but still. Stiles closed his legs tightly, wishing that his hands were free. There was no way he was going to wear that. Just... No.

Alan squeezed his knee and gave him a disappointed look.

"Don't start," he said simply.

Stiles looked back at him defiantly.

“You know how it goes by now. And we don’t have time for this, I will not have you make me look bad in front of Raf.”

Stiles refused to budge. Alan gave a put upon sigh and shook his head.

"I will start counting. The severity of your punishment will depend on how far I get before you open your legs."

Stiles felt his treacherous cock twitch. Fuck it. He wasn’t scared.

"One."

He will not wear a _thong_. Or the stupid dress.

"Two."

He didn't even know what this punishment or whatever was! How was he supposed to...

"Three."

His stomach was tied in knots. He didn't know what this was even about, he just wanted to be left alone.

"Four."

Stiles parted his thighs with a shaky exhale, his insides churning.

"That was four," Alan repeated evenly. He didn't sound angry; he was concentrating on getting the lingerie on him. "I want you to remember that number. We will take care of your punishment after Rafael left."

The thong was quite a few sizes too small, the strings cut into his hips and his balls were hanging out on one side of the triangle that clearly wasn’t fit to cover a man’s junk. His cock firmed up a bit and was now squeezed against his stomach at an awkward angle.

Alan pulled the hem of the dress back down - not like it covered much, the elastic fabric had the outline of his erection clearly showing - and smoothed his hands down over his thighs. His touch was firm and sure, calming the turmoil of confusion and uncertainty in Stiles a bit.

There were a pair of shoes in the bag too, white and shiny with a thick sole and high heels, Stiles distantly remembered one of Lydia’s shopping trips that he was the victim of, he thought these were called ‘platform’.

Alan slipped them on his feet, they were actually a bit large, he didn’t want to imagine the person who wore things like these and needed bigger shoes than him. One of the heels looked like it was broken off at one point and had been glued back, but Stiles was more occupied by the feeling of his feet being bent into the strange and uncomfortable mold that the shoes provided.

He hoped he wasn’t required to walk much, because he might actually break his neck if he fell off these fucking things.

“Just a few finishing touches, and you will be ready,” Alan said. He combed down Stiles’s hair, parting it on the side and used a pink, sparkly hair clip to keep the front out of his forehead. He reached around his head and unclasped the gag, giving him a warning look.

“No talking,” he reminded, not like he needed to. Stiles could still feel the place where he was slapped in the morning.

The plastic bag was mostly empty now, but apparently still held some makeup and jewelry. Stiles felt kind of surreal sitting on the chair with his hands bound while Alan applied the bright red lipstick and the black mascara with a face of intense concentration. He didn’t seem to mind that Stiles was still covered in his dried come.

There was a long necklace of black plastic beads that got pulled over his head, and a pair of gold colored large ear hoops - clip ons, thank god - that bit into his earlobes as they were put on. The weight of them felt alien as they dangled against the side of his face.

When he was finished Alan gave him a critical look, and then unbuckled the dog collar from around his neck. For some reason that made Stiles’s muscles clench in alarm.

“It’s okay, you can have it back after,” he said, and after a second of thinking decided to prop the gag back into his mouth. “You can keep this,” he relented.

Stiles still felt like he stepped wrong somewhere.

“Come, let’s have a look at you.”

Alan pulled him up and led him into the bathroom, keeping a hand on him as he wobbled in the too big, too tall shoes.

Even though Stiles already knew what he was wearing, seeing it in the mirror was a shock. He almost fell as he jerked back from his reflection, but Alan was standing close behind him, his hands holding his waist, his touch was burning through the holes of the dress.

Stiles breathed in quick, shaky gulps of air. He looked… like a whore. For some reason he couldn’t tear his eyes away from his hard nipples showing through the crimson fabric and the obscene line of his cock snuggled into the crease where his thigh met his body.

“Raf will be pleased,” Alan assured him, his dark eyes running up and down Stiles in the mirror.

The man slid one of his hands to his ass and under the hem of the dress. He pulled the string resting in his crack away and pushed a slick finger into his hole. Stiles shuddered, leaning against the sink as the finger was soon joined by another. He thought there was a bit too much lube - or whatever Alan used as lube, anyway - he could feel it sliding down along his perineum.

He was stretched for a few minutes, though Alan took care not to hit his prostate, still, by the time he was satisfied Stiles was panting and fully hard.

There was a knock on the door outside.

Stiles startled in surprise, almost forgetting the purpose of this whole thing, but he didn’t have time to panic.

Alan pulled him back into the room and made him sit at the end of the bed. His hands were untied.

“If you will be good, and do as you’re told, I will let you have something nice as a reward,” Alan promised, looking into his eyes seriously. “You will keep your hands to yourself and off your cock, you will do exactly what Raf wants you to, and you will not make a fuss,” he said. Stiles wasn’t sure what, but there was something in his tone that made him know that he had no choice but to obey.

He nodded, feeling his heartbeat in his throat. He had no idea if it was terror tinted with anticipation or the other way around.

Alan opened the door.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts?   
> Just to clarify, Rafael is either not related to Scott in this verse or he is, but he haven't been to Beacon Hills since the boys were tiny, and has no idea who Stiles is...  
> He also won't be an FBI agent or whatever, more like a down and out alcoholic asshole.


	3. Saturday - Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you know how I cut Saturday in half? Well, I realized I had to move a few things over to Sunday, so I managed to finish it pretty soon. Damn, I could have left it in one part... Anyway, this happens when you do things by the seat of your pants, kids.
> 
> Okay, so fair warning, this chapter will contain partner sharing and a quite astounding amount of dirty-talk. Seriously, so much.
> 
> Also, Rafael is an asshole.

Raf was _huge;_ he was tall and clearly broad at the shoulders even under the heavy coat he was wearing. He had a crooked nose that must have been broken at one point and a shaggy beard. His eyes immediately zeroed in on Stiles, ignoring Alan.

"Well, well. I have to say you do know where to find a filthy skank," he said, addressing his host, but still looking at Stiles. He fished two unopened beer cans from his coat pockets and handed them to Alan without averting his gaze.

Stiles shivered, throat working on a dry swallow.

"Stand up, sweety, let Raf look at the merchandise," he ordered, losing the coat and jeans shirt he was wearing underneath until he was standing there in a threadbare, yellowed wifebeater, his pants were bulging at the front.

Stiles glanced at Alan, but he was busy placing the cans on the nightstand and then went to sit down in the armchair.

Stiles stood. He didn't know what to do with his hands now that they were free.

Raf stalked up to him, his expression turning disgusted as he noticed the dried stains on his face.

"Aw, man. I can see this one is a fucking cumslut, but you could have cleaned her up a bit."

Stiles felt himself flush and he couldn’t even tell from which part.

"You get what you see," Alan said conversationally "You remember the rules?"

Raf rolled his eyes even as he reached out to feel up Stiles’s chest. There wasn't really anything to actually feel up, but he still squeezed his pecs with a too strong grip, making him whine.

"Yeah, yeah. No deepthroating, no donkey-punching. Man, that was one time, and wasn't even one of your bitches, when will you let it go?"

He ran his hands down Stiles sides, calloused fingertips catching on the fabric, then roughly pulled him closer by the ass. Stiles lost his balance, falling into the man's chest and grabbing at his shoulders. The man snorted derisively.

Raf gripped his asscheeks with enough force to make him go up on his toes, the fingers digging in painfully before one hand slid under the hem of his dress. The feeling of two thick digits entering him without warning had Stiles throwing his head back on a moan.

"Oh? Look at that, your nasty little cunt is already dripping for me..." he said, scissoring his fingers too fast for the ring of muscle to adjust. Stiles’s cock made an aborted little jerk at the burn.

Raf pushed him away as quick as he pulled him in. Stiles fell on the bed, but his shoulder was sized in a strong grip and he was forced down to his knees on the floor. The man opened his jeans and fished out his cock.

Sweet baby _Jesus_.

He was only half-hard, but was already bigger than anything Stiles saw from up close before. The no deepthroating rule made sense now, he wasn’t even sure that monster would fit through the ring of his gag.

A hand was fisted into his hair and his face was smashed against the thickening meat.

"Come on bitch, get those cocksucking lips on me. I hope you don't fucking expect me to do all the work."

Raf's voice was rough and commanding, but he didn’t actually let Stils move on his own accord, just jerked his head back at a painful angle and started to slap his face with his dick.

"Come on, come on, get it wet, where's your tongue?" he asked, low and snide, rubbing the shaft against his mouth when Stiles obediently tried to lick it. By the time he was fully hard, his cock was smeared red from Stiles’s lipstick. It wasn’t as thick as a beer can, but it was close.

Stiles felt saliva dripping down his chin, his neck close to cramping from being bent backwards.

Raf stepped back and let go of him, toeing off his  boots and getting out of his jeans, eyes burning a hole into him.

"Get on the bed," he ordered and he scrambled to obey.

He watched the man get naked, only leaving his wifebeater on, and finally had a second to just breathe.

His own cock was painfully hard, throbbing in time with his pulse. His whole body was flushed with shame, acutely aware of the fishnets biting into his thighs and the string of the thong rubbing against his hole. He felt filthy and cheap and a bit like he was high.

"On your back, and pull up your knees, I want to have a look at that sloppy pussy of yours."

Stiles laid back, trembling, and parted his legs while Raf climbed between them.

He got a smack to his thigh.

"Move it, skank!"

He braved a glance towards Alan, who was watching them without a word, face unreadable but looking comfortable in the armchair in the corner.

Stiles hooked his hands behind his knees and pulled them up towards his chest. He thought he was about to shake apart.

Raf leaned over him and grabbed one of the beers, popping it open and taking a large gulp.

"Now, that’s a sight for sore eyes."

He reached out, pushing the dress farther up on Stiles’s groin, then grabbed the front of the thong and pulled it up, making the cords cut into the skin. Stiles groaned and then cried out as the lingerie was let go and snapped into place, hitting his hard cock.

Raf savoured his beer unhurriedly, pushing two fingers back into his hole and immediately starting to pump them roughly.

"That's a tight vag you have, sweetheart," he said, twisting his wrist before forcing in a third one. Stiles felt the burn of it spread out all the way to his belly. "I bet all your tricks think they are popping your cherry, hm?"

Stiles whined.

Raf finished his beer with a noisy swallow and threw the empty can at his head. He missed, it bounced of the pillow just an inch from Stiles’s ear.

Raf pulled his fingers out and grabbed his thighs, pushing them closer to his chest, practically folding him in half and squeezing his flesh painfully.

"Show me, spread your pussy-lips. I wanna see that moneymaker nice and clear," he commanded.

Stiles’s fingers were shaking with something that was dangerously close to feverish excitement, but he refused to analyze it. He reached down and pulled his asscheeks apart. The air was cold against his lubed entrance.

"Yeah, yeah. Pretty and pink like a fucking virgin's. I bet you play it up for them. I bet you let them think you never did it before... But not for long, bitch, not for long. You just wait, once I'm finished with you, you will be loose and gaping just like the whore you are."

He pushed one of Stiles’s legs to the side and let it go, taking his cock in hand and slapping the bulbous head against his hole.

"I will wreck your cunt," he promised darkly, making Stiles’s fingers twitch where they were keeping himself open and vulnerable. Raf gave him a sleazy smile - tearing his gaze away from his nether regions for the first time - and pushed in without warning.

Stiles screamed, hands flying up to push the heavy body away, but he didn’t stand a chance. Raf easily gripped both his wrists into one of his hands and pushed them into the bed above his head.

His ass felt like it was split in two and there was fire racing up and down his spine. Raf didn’t waste his time on waiting till he got accustomed to the girth, he started thrusting into him without pausing.

And he kept _talking_ , leaning over Stiles and looking into his eyes almost intimately.

"I will fuck you so hard, so hard, baby," he grunted, snapping his hips forward in a punishing rhythm that forced the air out of Stiles’s lungs. "I'm gonna pound your cunt out of shape. It's gonna get so slack, your johns gonna get fucking lost in it."

His eyes rolled back, he knew that couldn’t happen, but right now, speared on the monstrous cock,  it felt like it was possible. Raf grabbed his thigh and pulled it up to his chest, gripping it close. He turned his head and licked at Stiles’s calf before biting into it hard enough to bruise.

"Who knows, I might get you off the wrong path, hm? I mean, you will be still leaking my jizz a month from now, won't you? I'm gonna shoot it so deep, get your pussy so drenched that you will be tasting it on your tongue. Who's gonna pay for you then, eh? Who's gonna want that saggy cumdump between your legs?"

He was moving faster now, drilling into Stiles and he couldn’t do anything other than just _take_ it. He thought he was close to coming - or would be, if not for the thong cutting into his dick - but he wasn't sure, his whole body was rattling.

Raf's face was scrunched up in an animalistic grimace, his fingers were so tight on Stiles’s wrists that he couldn’t even feel his hands anymore.

"Yeah... Ready bitch? Ready for me?... You gonna take my cum good, yeah? Take it! Goddamn... fucking... nasty-ass whore..."

Raf came with a loud groan, his weight dropping against Stiles body, crushing him. His hips snapped forward a few more times before going lax but his cock was still jerking inside, squirting with aftershocks.

It was hard to breathe. Stiles turned his head, catching Alan’s eyes for a second. The manager was looking at him calmly, like things were progressing exactly as he planned.

Stiles shivered when Raf finally pushed himself up, his cock was already soft, but still so big that it didn't slip free.

Raf didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get it out either. He picked up his second beer, and started drinking, looking down at Stiles with distaste.

Even though there was nothing holding him down anymore, Stiles found himself unable to move. He felt utterly exhausted, even with his erection nagging him for attention. He couldn’t even lift a hand.

Raf took a sip of his beer, nudging his hips forward to make sure that his dick stayed sheathed.

"I had worse fucks," he said, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. "Not many, but I had worse. You bitches always make men do all the work. You just lay back, spread your legs and call it service..." Stiles didn’t know if it was the too much beer or something else, but he seemed to be riling himself up.

"Well, you won't be slacking off on me anymore, sweetheart," he said, pulling at the thong and letting it fall back again and again until Stiles was whining from it hitting his cock repeatedly. He managed to bring his hand down, trying to bat Raf away with no success.

"It's alive!" the man cried out with a snort. "I'm gonna give you another chance, slut. Give me a nice show until I'm good to go again and I might just take care of your needy clit."

Stiles looked at him uncomprehending, shit, he was actually fucked stupid.

Raf grunted impatiently, he took another drink and then touched the cold can against the head of Stiles' cock, making him moan.

"Don't play dumb, show me your tits!" he ordered, keeping the freezing beer pushed to his flesh until Stiles managed to obey, pulling the front of his dress down.

Finally Raf took the can away. He reached out and tugged the fabric even lower until it was bunched up around Stiles’s middle.

"What are you waiting for? Touch them! Show me how you like your pathetic bitch-titties played with!"

His fingers were shaking, but he did as he was told, rubbing his nipples slowly.

Raf pinched the inside of his thigh hard, his body jerked.

"Oh, cut the crap! That's not how fucking sluts like you _like_ it. Pull on them properly, milk those nips for Raf, I want you to squirm on my cock from it."

Stiles’ whole body felt feverish, he felt stupid and awkward as he took his nipples between his fingers and pulled. The contrast was shocking; his left one was still sensitive from before, sending little zaps of electricity straight to his cock, while his right nipple was just pleasantly tingly.

Raf hummed under his breath, rocking his hips slowly and grinding his dick into his hole.

“Yeah, yeah… that’s something. Pull harder, wanna see you cry, sweetheart,” he dictated, and Stiles felt his hands obey without input from his brain, tugging on his nipples painfully until he was arching off the bed. It was a weird to do it to himself, made his insides twist, but he had to do as Raf said. He needed to.

“Oh man,” the man said after watching him writhing on the bed for a few minutes “I could just stay inside your cunt until I’m hard and ready again if I didn’t have to take a leak so bad…”

Stiles’ toes curled, he just barely managed to suppress the shudder of his body, hoping that Alan didn’t see. His fingers kept working on his nipples, even as Raf pulled out with a grunt.

His ass felt so empty, he thought he was going to go mad, then there was the unmistakable feeling of something leaking out from his hole. He felt dirty and used. It was so _good,_  and at the same time he wanted to throw up with disgust.

Raf strolled into the bathroom, burping noisily on the last swallow of his beer.

Stiles had his eyes closed, and almost didn’t notice Alan stepping up to the bed and looking down between his legs with clinical focus, he couldn’t help but moan as he felt the manager gently run a finger around the rim of his asshole. Whatever he saw, he seemed satisfied with it, and he was sitting in the armchair again before Raf returned.

The man seemed to be in a better mood after his bathroom break. He knelt back between Stiles’s legs, eyes focused on his entrance. He was grinning. Stiles’s fingers spasmed on his chest where he was still keeping them around his abused nipples.

"Aw, would you look at that?" Raf drawled slowly, pulling his asscheeks apart for a better view.

"Your cunt is flirting with me, it keeps winking, the fucking little tease. You want to kiss Raf's cock again, don't you, love?"

Stiles whined, eyes slipping shut. He had no idea if it was because Raf was talking to his asshole or because he could actually feel it twitching, clenching down on empty air.

A glob of come slid out of him, running down his crack.

"Hey, hey! Don't waste it," Raf said, using a pair of thick fingers to scoop it up and push it back in. "All the whores would be choking for such a nice big load, you have to cherish it!"

Raf grabbed the globes of his ass and angled him upwards, shuffling forward until his knees were wedged under it, his lower body practically lying in the man’s lap. He looked up at Stiles’s face.

"You wanna go again, don't you, bitch? I bet you never had a ride like good ol' Raf, hm? Once you have a taste of this," he continued, pushing just the head of his cock in, then pulling it out with a little 'pop', "you won't be satisfied with anything else, so you'd better make the most of it as long as I'm willing to use this filthy cumbucket you call a pussy."

Stiles moaned. His body was out of his control, hips trying to move, to stretch down for that huge dick.

"Yeah, you're thirsty for my cream, come on, show me how desperate you are. Get your fingers in your vag and hold it gaping for Raf!"

He did, he reached down and put his index fingers in his whole - his eyes teared up from how loose he felt, sloppy with come - and tugged on the ring of muscle.

"Oh, yeah! Keep them where they are, make your cunt nice and tight for me again," he said in a low voice, pushing his cock in between Stiles’s fingers in one smooth motion.

Stiles mewled, the stretch was almost too much with the added girth of his own fingers. His blood was on fire, the pounding of his heart loud in his ears.

"Not bad, not bad. Nowhere near as good as the first round, but that's to be expected..."

He was moving slowly, his cock rubbing against Stiles’ knuckles.

"I guess it's ruined now, for good. I bet you will be showing up beer cans there from now on, just to feel something."

He kept fucking him evenly, pulling out almost all the way on every thrust.

"Don't worry though, sweetheart, now that the edge's been taken care of I will give you a nice, long pounding to remember."

He sped up a bit, putting more force behind his hips. Stiles almost blacked out from humiliation as his hole started squelching with it obscenely.

Raf laughed.

"Yeah, that's right, I'm stirring up your pussy real good, gonna churn my cum into butter." He stopped with his cock in all the way and circled his hips, grunting. "Gonna turn your vag inside out, it will be hanging between your legs like a fucking tail, you will have to fold it back inside with your hands after I'm finished with you."

Stiles felt every word like a punch in the gut. His fingers were getting tired, hooked into the soft, blazing hot walls of his channel. Thankfully, Raf shut up, concentrating on getting his dick as far as it could go.

His hands tightened on Stiles’s hips, fingernails biting into the skin. He was grunting and huffing constantly until his face scrunched up in annoyance.

"Shit, it's no good." He pulled completely, making him cry out at being left empty so suddenly. Raf slapped Stiles’s wrists away. "You're useless, I swear to god, I would have more fun fucking a loaf of soggy bread."

He grabbed Stiles’ shoulder and turned him on his stomach, not bothering with making sure that he was comfortable before ramming into his hole again. He sneaked a hand under Stiles’ stomach and pulled him up to his knees.

“Yeah, doggy style suits bitches better anyway,” he said, before starting to pound into him again.

Stiles was shivery and hot all over, he tried to get his hands under himself, but only managed to plant his palms beside his head. His elbows refused to straighten.

Raf was gripping his waist and now the squelching of his hole was joined by the sound of skin slapping against skin.

“Yeah, that’s a bit better, at least I don’t have to look at your ugly mug,” Raf commented. “Now all I need is for you to start moving your rump, come on!”

He slapped his ass hard, making Stiles twitch and moan into the pillow. He tried, he really did, but he couldn’t keep up with Raf, who was going fast and furious again, bouncing him up and down his dick. He hit him again, and then once more, strong enough to let him feel the imprint of his hand afterwards

“You’re a no-good whore, all I want is for you to tighten up your fucking cunt, is that too much to ask?” he snarled, leaning forward and putting a heavy hand to the back of Stiles’ neck, pushing his head face first into the pillow.

There was a slight movement from the corner, and Raf let him up to gulp in some air just as his lungs started burning.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but you have to admit, the bitch would deserve to be punched hard, she’s such a dumb, stupid whore, can’t take simple instructions.”

Alan didn’t say anything, but Stiles still felt himself relax a fraction, just at the reminder that he was still there.

Raf, of course took the manager’s silence differently.

“Hear that? He’s not protesting, even your fucking pimp thinks you would be better at this brain dead... What does a man have to do to get his cock milked around here, huh?”

His hips were released, and suddenly there was a thick thumb pushing into his hole alongside the fat dick hammering into him. Raf didn’t care a bit about him whining at the intrusion, he grabbed his necklace with his other hand and started yanking on it, cutting off his air sporadically. Stiles struggled, chest heaving, his body seizing up. His hole clamped down around Raf, making the man groan.

“That’s what I’m talking about! Yeah baby, keep choking! I don’t give a fuck if I have to strangle you until you’re blue in the face as long as it will tighten up that baggy vag of yours!”

Stiles didn’t remember much after that. His bones were rattling from Raf ramming into him, he kept gasping for air and tried to hold onto the pillow, but soon he was pushed up to the headboard and his head kept smashing into it. One of his earrings got caught on something, the clip pulling on his lobe and leaving it stinging after finally snapping off.

He could feel his cock leaking a steady stream of precome.

He was pretty sure that Raf didn’t bother with purposefully avoiding hitting his prostate, but still, all he got were accidental brushes against it, sending his spine tingling.

Stiles though that he would have come by now if the man actually managed to hit it full on.

His insides felt bruised, his hips would probably only end up black and blue, but right now they felt shattered and dislocated. After a while his body went so numb, that he couldn’t tighten himself up, no matter what Raf did, but it seemed that the man stopped caring about his hole and just kept thrusting like a fucking machine though he was still choking him with the necklace - just for the fun of it.

This time, Raf pulled out right after he came with a loud moan. Stiles didn’t even have enough strength to cry out, feeling his abused, sloppy asshole flutter around nothing.

“Well, that was pathetic. But since I did come I guess I have no room to complain…” He seemed all mellowed out, maybe it was the second orgasm, maybe the beer, Stiles couldn’t make himself care.

Raf went to his jeans and pulled out his wallet before stepping back to the bed.

Stiles felt fingers digging into his shoulder and he was turned to his back again. His limbs just flopped uselessly wherever they fell.

Raf leaned over him, inspecting his face from up close.

“I know Deaton said you were for free - it looks like he has more sense than to charge for such a sleazy skank - but I’m feeling generous, so here you go, I will give you a tip,” he said, grinning down at him.

The man cleared his throat and spit on his forehead, some of it hitting sliding down Stiles’ temple slowly. He waved a bill in front of Stiles's eyes and then proceeded to plaster it against his brow with a laugh.

Raf shrugged on his clothes, nodded at Alan and left without a word.

Stiles’ cock was twitching painfully, his head was completely empty with only a thick, impenetrable fog of cloying shame filling it up. He just lay there, eyes blurry as his breathing slowly got back to normal. His body was trembling.

The door barely closed behind Raf and Alan was already sitting beside him on the bed, gentle fingers running along his skin, making sure he was okay.

Stiles was crying, feeling somehow completely _reduced;_ like he was nothing but a bag of naked nerve endings.

"You were wonderful," Alan told him seriously, the praise hooking into Stiles navel and pulling.

There were hands carefully rolling the thong down his legs, finally freeing his poor, oversensitive cock. It jerked against his belly, spurting out a few drops of precome.

"It's okay, we're going to take care of you soon, but first I'm going to fuck you."

Stiles watched impassively as the manager opened his jeans and pulled his cock out. He lifted Stiles’s legs over his shoulders and slowly pushed into him, he didn’t even need to stretch the lax opening before he entered.

Stiles was so loose that Alan's dick felt almost soothing as it slid smooth and unhurried in and out of him, barely jarring his exhausted body. His hands kept stroking his thighs, fingers catching on the fishnets from time to time, but still calming.

The quiet care of it made a new flood of tears run down his face.

"That's right, everything is okay," Alan promised, rocking into him. “You’re not allowed to come before me, hold on for a bit more.”

The words made a strange sort of sense. He didn’t think it would have been right to finish before Alan, that wasn’t something he felt like he deserved. He just closed his eyes and let the tender motion rock his numb body. Stiles was nearly dozing when the man finished with a sigh, adding his come to the creamy mess already inside.

Alan pulled out slowly, immediately replacing his cock with clever fingers.

“Very good. Just let me take care of you,” his voice sounded far away.

The digits pumped into him steadily. There were three of them, and they kept carefully massaging his exhausted, worn insides.

Stiles hummed, on the verge of sleep, muscles going completely slack.

“That’s it, let it all out,” Alan told him, and it occurred to Stiles that those gentle fingers were actually working on digging out all the slimmy, lumpy come from his ass.

He could feel Alan’s other hand now, it was cupped under his hole, catching the slop running down his crack.

When his tunnel was finally left alone he opened his eyes, blinking at Alan blearily.

The manager looked calm as ever as he brought his hand up and poured the clotty contents of his palm over Stiles’s cock.

Stiles' breath hitched, the come was cool against his dick that was still hard and aching. It was disgusting.

Alan hummed, taking his erection in his slippery hand and formed a loose, warm fist around it, pumping slowly.

Even though he had been on the edge of coming for a long time, this gentle grip wasn’t enough, not after the violence that Raf showed his body. He whined low in his throat, wanting it to be just done.

It seemed that the manager was reading his thoughts because he was tightening his hold, picking up speed gradually until Stiles was moaning and trembling on the edge of orgasm.

Coming felt good, like a dam breaking loose, letting the last traces of tension out of his body.

He was sleeping before the aftershocks hit.

***

When he woke up Alan was lowering him into the tub that was filled with hot water and more bubbles than he thought possible.

Stiles was propped up gently, with a folded towel under his head on the edge, and the man started to work on him with a washcloth right away.

The water felt heavenly, the warmth seeping into his bones.

It was hard to get his thoughts in an order that made sense.

He noticed absently that his clothes were gone, and so was the gag, but he was way too tired to talk.

Carefully, Alan cleaned his face; the cloth coming away smeared black and red from his makeup, but the manager kept running it over his skin until it was clear.

He felt heavy and blank. Alan had his shirtsleeves rolled up and he reached under the water to make sure that the last traces of come and lube were gone from between his legs. Stiles winced, his hole was tender, twitching in protest at the slightest touch, but thankfully, the worrying numbness from before was already gone.

"You're fine," Alan told him, probably reading his thoughts on his face. "Everything is in working order, you will be back to normal by tomorrow."

Stiles wished he could believe him, but he had a feeling that the memory of tonight would stay with him for a long time. It wasn't every day you discovered such a dark, unsettling part of yourself.

He wondered for a moment how Alan knew... But it was too hard to think about it.

"You were very good," the man said, caressing his face. "Tomorrow is your last day here."

Stiles opened his eyes, suddenly alert - or as close to it as he could manage. Alan smiled that little reluctant thing that was almost familiar by now.

"It will be busy; I planned some things that you're going to hate, and some things that will take you out of your head... And lets not forget that you still have a punishment to face."

Stiles  averted his gaze, he almost forgot about that. Four. He remembered the count, but still had no idea what it would mean.

Alan ran his fingers through his hair soothingly.

"Don't worry about it for now, you need to have a good, long rest first."

Stiles nodded, letting his eyes flutter shut, trusting Alan to not let him slip under the water.

He dozed, not having any idea of the time passing. The next time he came around, he was being covered with sheets smelling clean and faintly like fabric softener.

Alan was sitting beside him.

"You did good, and I promised you a reward. Would you like me to sleep here, or would you rather cash it in for something else tomorrow?" he asked quietly.

Stiles gathered all the strength he had left and grabbed the man's wrist, tugging with a tired little groan.

He thought Alan chuckled, but he wasn’t sure. He could hear the rustling of clothes and then there was a warm, firm body pushing up along his back.

Stiles didn’t remember ever feeling so content.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so Saturday is done. Did you guys like it?
> 
> If you would like to have some visual clues about what Stiles wears, or how Raf looks like in this universe, hit me up at udunie.tumblr.com, I'm always happy to have messages!
> 
> Oh! Also, I thought we should do a thing. I know there aren't that many people reading this, but if any of you feel up to creating some kind of fanwork for Room 27, I would be more than happy to include any kink (and I do mean, ANY - I'm starting to realize that there's not much I wouldn't write as far as this verse goes) that you would like to see. Just drop a comment with a link to your gifset/art/soundtrack whatever, and we can negotiate it.


	4. Sunday - Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I promised an anon on tumblr that I would update today with around 6k, but I couldn't find a good place to cut, so I ended up writing a bit more to get to a point where it would make sense to halve the chapter.
> 
> Just a quick note, I hope you read the tags, because I always update them, so might have noticed, that there will be some diaper action. I know this might be a squick for a lot of people, so just in case I'm telling you that the diaper is not part of infantilism play.

Waking up on Sunday was a very different affair from the day before. For example, he wasn’t tied up... and most importantly, he wasn’t alone.

Stiles woke slowly, becoming aware of things one by one. It was very warm, even though the covers have been kicked off long ago. There was something in his mouth that he suckled on from time to time sleepily and he felt weighted down, but comfortable...

It took some time for his brain to put things together; Alan was holding onto him from behind; one of his legs was thrown over both of Stiles’s, trapping him against the bed. His right hand was hugging his middle, palm cradling Stiles genitals casually and his other arm was bent under his head, two of his fingers in Stiles’s mouth.

He felt his face flush at the careless possessiveness of the position. He immediately felt restless - like always when he thought he couldn't move - he thought he might be able to wiggle out if he was careful enough...

"Stay," Alan said, sounding like he had been awake for a while. "Good morning."

Stiles froze in indecision. There was something in the way Alan was holding him that made his belly squirm. He didn't know if he liked it.

The fingers in his mouth started pumping slowly and he began sucking on them without thinking.

"It's still early, we're going to stay in bed for a bit more, and you are not going to move, or get hard."

Just hearing the words was enough to make Stiles’s cock jerk, and right on cue Alan gave him a warning squeeze.

He realized that he was wearing the collar again and that made everything simultaneously better and much, much worse.

It only took about three minutes for him to start sweating; he fidgeted on the bed restlessly, not moving exactly, just trying to settle the itch in his bones.

Blood was rushing to his cock, trying to fill it, but Alan’s fingers were tight like a cage as they held his shaft and balls pressed close together. His dick did manage to chub up a bit, but was unable to get to full hardness. It was more uncomfortable than painful, still, Stiles couldn't help moaning in distress around the digits leisurely fucking his mouth. His own hands were fisted into the sheets, scrunching up the fabric in desperation. He wasn't used to not moving around; it was easier when he was tied up, but now there was only Alan keeping him in place. It was a challenge.

He unconsciously lifted his leg an inch, not even knowing what he was trying to achieve, but Alan tugged firmly on his trapped groin, hard enough to make him groan.

“Don’t,” he said simply. “You are staying where you are.”

The feeling of the man’s erection pressing up against him from behind was just completely unfair.

“Two more minutes,” Alan said, cool and collected. “count in your head, after you get to 120 I will let you up and you can suck me off.”

Stiles whined, high and a bit desperate, two minutes looked like an eternity from where he was standing, but Alan merely tightened his arms around him.

“Come on, one mississippi, two mississippi…” he dictated, voice trailing off as Stiles paused in his wiggling, trying to concentrate on the fucking mississippies that seemed to drag way too slowly in his head.

It did actually work, as much as he hated to admit it; by 40 he stopped fidgeting completely, the counting giving him a clear end goal that made it easier to stay motionless.

He still had no idea why Alan was doing this, other than to simply annoy him.

His dick made a few more aborted little twitches - that was out of his control -, but the urge to get up and just do something was dissipating, he almost fell back asleep before he finished.

“That’s it,” the man said when the time was up, letting go of his genitals, and smoothing his hand up Stiles’ stomach before withdrawing it. He pulled his finger’s out of his mouth, stretching his arm and turning to his back.

Stiles felt… calm. He was usually restless and squirmy after waking up, but now he actually stayed where he was, not having any urge to move.

“Come now,” Alan said, reminding him that he did actually have something to do.

Stiles turned towards him, seeing him completely naked for the first time.

He liked it. He liked it a lot. Maybe it was because despite all the things they did in the last two days he was only just now allowed to look - and even though it was far from his usual type - but he loved everything about the body lying beside him.

The man’s chest was covered in short, curly black hair. He knew that Alan had to be only a few years from forty, but it didn't show; he was muscled just right and his skin was a really stunning shade of brown that was stretching silkily over his hard frame.

Stiles’ mouth was watering even before he saw the flushed erection between the manager’s legs.

Alan didn’t rush him, he let Stiles feast his eyes before pulling him towards his dick with a hand on the back of his neck. He went willingly, climbing between the man’s legs, though he was stopped before he could take the deliciously arched cock in his fist.

“No, keep your hands either on my knees or behind your back. You are only allowed to use your mouth.”

Stiles shivered, opting for taking hold of Alan’s legs, not sure that he was ready to pick the other option.

He leaned down, careful of his own dick that was filling rapidly between his thighs, and took the head of the manager’s cock between his lips, sucking eagerly now that there wasn’t a gag stopping him.

“Very good, watch the teeth,” Alan said, breathing slow and relaxed. Stiles wanted to get him panting.

He doubled his efforts, bobbing his head up and down, taking as much as he could while still being able to breathe, slurping noisily.

Alan ran a hand through his hair, not trying to control his motions, just combing through his messy locks carefully.

“I want you to take it all in, it will be harder in this position, but you can do it. Go as slow as you want,” he said, catching Stiles’ eyes as he looked up.

He tried. He took a couple of deep breaths and relaxed his throat, pulling the hard flesh into his mouth. He managed to get more than halfway without gagging, and he kept going after he swallowed back the urge to choke but… It was difficult. He couldn’t seem to get Alan’s cock through that last bit of resistance, no matter how hard he tried.

His neck was growing tired with the futile effort, but his natural instincts wouldn’t let him get that last two inches down. It made his eyes water, partly from the strain but mostly from frustration.

“Shh, it’s okay, do you need me to help you down?” Alan asked, rubbing the lobe of his ear gently between two fingers. Stiles made a whiny little sound, wanting… _needing_ to do it.

“That’s okay, you are doing very good as it is,” the man said placatingly, palming the back of Stiles head and then pushing him down to his straining cock with relentless, unwavering strength until he bottomed out, mashing Stiles’ nose against the smooth skin of his belly, and keeping him there for a few, silent seconds.

There were tears running down his cheeks, he wasn’t crying though, he just had a hard time keeping his gag reflex in check, bent forward like this.

Alan let him up before the burning in his lungs got too bad but he still needed a moment to sputter and cough, letting the man's cock slip out and flop onto his stomach.

"Good, try again," Alan said, shifting to get more comfortable.

Stiles leaned down again, feeling awkward as he had to get the man's dick back into his mouth without using his hands. By now it was slippery with excess saliva.

Alan’s hand was back in his hair as he started sucking, pushing his head down through the hardest part. This time he didn’t need a break.

"Excellent," the manager told him, helping less and less with fighting down his resistance. "You need to learn to do this by yourself. If we ever end up sleeping together like now this is going to be your routine," he said decisively.

He didn’t need to force down Stiles anymore, it became easier to get the thick cock lodged completely into his throat every time he managed it.

"When you wake up, I expect this to be the very first thing you do," he explained, the words sending a shock of excitement down Stiles’s spine. "You will not get up, you will not start puttering around, you will not touch yourself, not even me. You will absolutely not talk. All you will do is swallow my cock down and work your throat around it until I come."

Stiles was bobbing quickly now, letting himself imagine for just a moment what it would be like to do this every day. His muscles were trembling as he held himself back from jerking off.

"Use your tongue on the base when you're down," Alan dictated, humming contently when he obeyed, licking at the root of the cock as it started twitching in his throat.

"Just like that... You will recognize it when I'm getting close; I want you to relax and hold me inside when you feel like I'm about to come."

It was almost unnoticeable, but Stiles thought he was breathing a bit harder now. It made a warm sense of accomplishment swell in his stomach.

Alan exhaled through his nose, the back of his fingers caressing the line of Stiles’s jaw. His cock thickened a fraction more in his mouth.

"Do you feel it? Take a deep breath and get it in as far as you can," he said, he kept touching Stiles’s face lightly, but didn't try to hold him down, letting him do it on his own.

Stiles did as he was told, his insides were churning with want as the head of Alan's cock slotted into his throat like it belonged there. He kept swallowing, working his muscles around it even as he started to feel lightheaded.

Alan came with an almost silent little 'ah' that filled Stiles with joy.

He did that.

He moved to pull off, but the man held him in place with a heavy palm on the back of his neck while his cock jerked through the aftershock.

He was a bit dizzy by the time he was let go, gulping in air like it was going out of stock. His hand twitched, the need to touch himself almost overwhelming.

"That was wonderful," Alan told him, voice lower than usual, "But you're still not allowed to jerk off."

Stiles whined, feeling like he was going to combust.

Alan pulled his right leg up and pushed it between Stiles’s thighs, his knee nudging his balls and making him moan inarticulately.

"You're going to rub off against me," he said calmly, like it was a completely natural suggestion.

Stiles’s brain crashed to a stop at the idea of humping someone's leg like a fucking dog, but his need was overriding his common sense. His hips started thrusting on their own accord, with little, jerky movements.

It felt so good, his face was red and burning with humiliation, but his cock was leaking and twitching as it slid against Alan's skin, the rough hair on his leg scraping the sensitive head.

"That's it, very good."

He came embarrassingly fast, splattering come all over Alan’s thigh, barely stopping himself from slumping forward right into it.

Alan pushed his thumb into his slack, panting mouth.

"You made a mess. Lick it up," he ordered evenly, the words making Stiles tremble. Shame was gnawing at his insides as he climbed off to the side and lapped up the thick streaks that already started to go sticky on Alan's hot skin.

The bitter taste was bursting on his tongue, giving him something to think about other than what he was doing. His nipples felt tight and sensitive as they occasionally rubbed against the hair on the man's leg.

He curled up on the bed after he finished, not wanting to see Alan's face. He just needed to breathe for a few moments.

The manager ran his fingers through his hair. Stiles heard him get up and move around - probably getting dressed - but he refused to open his eyes.

"I'm going to get a few things and some food. Stay on the bed," he said before closing the door behind himself.

Stiles stayed on the bed.

***

By the time Alan got back Stiles was feeling... Not angry exactly, but surly and petulant. Everything was going so well and then Alan had to make him do something so humiliating. This day was supposed to... he didn’t know how it was actually supposed to go, but still.

The man must have seen some of his mood from the tense line of his back, because he heaved an exasperated sigh before sitting on the edge of the bed behind him.

"I see we have to start with your punishment," he said calmly, stroking a warm hand between Stiles’s shoulder blades.

He felt irritation bubble up inside him, wanting an outlet, but before he could get the words out Alan was smoothing his palm over his mouth. He wasn’t pushing down, just held it here as a reminder.

"I don’t want to hear it," he told Stiles. "First, we are going to have breakfast, and you will not be difficult about it. We haven't even dealt with your first punishment and believe me, you don't want to land another one right away."

Stiles huffed, conceding the point. He still had no idea what went for punishment around here.

He let himself be pulled up and knelt by the armchair as he was prompted, allowing himself to be fed, but made sure that Alan saw on his face how unhappy he was.

The manager, of course, didn't seem to be fazed. He was as fucking zen as always.

Stiles ate the sandwich from Alan’s hand, drank his water, took his pill and washed his teeth frowning morosely. He expected to be gagged after everything was finished, but instead Alan led him to the shower stall.

There were a couple of thick towels laid down on the floor.

"The tiles are cold and you will be kneeling for a while," he explained.

Stiles felt dread settle in his stomach.

The man didn’t give him time to get worked up; he was pulled into the stall and forced to his hands and knees.

Alan didn’t talk to him - not like he was usually very chatty, but he always had a few words to calm him down when he got too tense.

It was freaking Stiles out.

There was an eye bolt screwed between the tiles on the floor that he didn’t notice yesterday - probably something the manager only put in when needed - and Alan proceeded to bound both his wrists and his collar to it until his upper body was sloping forward. Stiles rested his weight on his forearms, reluctantly lowering his head to the folded towel the manager slipped under it.

By the time the make-shift spreader bar was tied between his knees Stiles was trembling slightly.

Alan smoothed his hand down the globe of his ass before standing and going to the sink. There was a cardboard box on the closed lid of the toilet and he started rummaging through it, but his back was blocking Stiles’ view of what exactly he was doing.

When the manager finally turned around Stiles felt the blood freeze in his veins even as his brain struggled to process what he was seeing.

The man was holding a two-liter empty soda bottle; it had the bottom cut off, and there were little holes punched into the rim with a wire pulled through so it could be hung up-side-down. The mouth of the bottle was fitted to a long tube that ended in a plastic - nozzle? - that was a bit bulkier where it joined the tubing but tapered off into being about as thick as a thumb.

Stiles pulled on his bindings desperately, feeling cold sweat break out across his skin.

Alan didn’t acknowledge his struggle, just hung the bottle above him on the end of the handhold before crouching down at his side. He rubbed the small of Stiles’ back.

“You are still not allowed to talk, but you are going to answer my questions,” Alan said calmly. “Do you remember the count from yesterday?”

Stiles felt tears gather in his eyes. He licked his lips nervously, feeling suddenly uncertain after spending so much time in muteness. It didn’t even occur to him to lie.

“F-four.” His voice sounded strange and strained even to his own ears.

“Exactly,” Alan said, petting him steadily. “I’m going to give you an enema.”

He figured as much, but still, his fingers were scratching at the tiles, trying to… he didn’t even know what. The man kept talking.

“We will take our time. We will be taking breaks, and I will help you with the cramps. But you are going to take every last drop. Four quarters of it.”

Stiles was shaking uncontrollably, his mind filled with a deafening white noise.

Was that even possible?

That was… a gallon, that couldn’t be right.

There was no way that he could… that Alan could…

He kept trying to close his thighs, even though he knew he couldn’t. Wasn’t that the sign of madness? Trying the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome?

“Shhh, it’s okay. You can do it,” Alan told him, confident and collected as always. “In fact, I think you are actually going to end up loving it.”

Stiles shook his head as much as he was able to, almost hysterically. The manager hummed.

“I know you don’t like the thought of it - or more like the thought of liking it - that is why this is a punishment. But I do remember how hard you were when I was filling you up Friday night.”

He felt his face growing that ugly, blotchy red that it always became when blood was rushing to it way too fast. He didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t.

Alan caressed his back with a barely there touch, making goosebumps rise on his skin.

“It will be very hard, it will be pushing your boundaries, but it’s not as inconceivable as you think.”

He felt fingers at his entrance, slick and insistent. He was a little sensitive from last night, but it wasn’t anywhere near as he feared.

“I’m going to use salted water - to prevent water intoxication - and make the solution just a bit warmer than body temperature, that should make the cramping less severe,” he explained, pulling his fingers out of his hole.

Stiles felt like he was in some bizarre nightmare, waiting to wake up.

Alan went to the sink and pulled out a pitcher that had measurements printed on the side from the box. He ran the tap for a long time, waiting until the water was just the way he wanted it, filling the jug to precisely one quarter. He made sure the small spoonful of salt dissolved perfectly before he turned back towards the shower.

Stiles was watching him with a detached kind of morbid curiosity.

Alan knelt down by his side and then puttered around with the makeshift enema kit, but it wasn't long before the nozzle was slowly sliding into Stiles.

He tried to clench down and stop it, but the plastic was slicked up well and before he knew it even the thickest part at the base slipped inside his sphincter, the muscles closing around the tube.

"You had about a bit less than two quarters in you on Friday, so I expect you won't have too much difficulty with the first half..." he trailed off, and Stiles jerked as he felt the slow trickle of water rushing into him. "This is your first quarter. It should be slower than with the shower, but we will take a break if you start cramping."

Stiles closed his eyes. He didn’t think he would ever get used to the sensation of liquid flowing into him. He didn’t even have the vocabulary to comprehend it.

Alan was right, the first dose was nothing more than a strange, alien feeling in his belly, but there was no pain. Alan prepared the next pitcher while the first was going, and poured the solution into the bottle before it could run empty.

"Second one," he said, like Stiles could forget. This time he sat down on a towel beside Stiles, watching him tremble.

He felt the need to do something - anything - to compensate for the helplessness accompanying the flow filling him up, and managed to drag the corner of his 'pillow' to his mouth, worrying it between his teeth.

Alan caught his eyes, but didn't reprimand him.

His body jerked when the first cramp hit, and the manager immediately did something to stop the water, reaching out to rub at Stiles’s stomach with sure fingers.

"That's okay. Try to relax your abdomen..."

Stiles couldn’t do it, a part of him wanted to, but his brain was fighting; letting the tension in his body go would be like giving in to what was happening, and his mind just boggled at the idea.

Alan was keen as always, catching on to his struggle even as he was just figuring it out himself.

"You know we will do this either way. There's no reason to make it harder than it has to be," he said, leaving his stomach alone and moving to dig into the knotted muscles along his spine with both hands.

He was great at finding all the sore spots, and when he managed to work out one in the small of his back Stiles couldn’t help his body going lax on a shaky exhale.

The cramping eased almost immediately, and he couldn’t help a relieved little whine from escaping. Alan started the water again.

“Third quarter,” the manager announced not long after that. Stiles didn’t even notice him getting up and filling the pitcher. “You’re halfway there.”

He was already so full. He couldn’t imagine that his body could take so much. It was impossible.

He couldn’t see his stomach from this position, but it felt like it was growing, weird and unnatural and unstoppable.

Alan kept a hand on the small of his back, fingertips tapping a soft rhythm against his skin. It was something to focus on.

The painful spasms started up again, insistent and sharp, even after he tried to make his muscles relax. The water stopped.

It was hard to breath.

“That’s okay,” Alan said, but instead of trying to coax him into loosening up further, he put one hand to the nozzle - holding it in place - and started to push and prod at his stomach with the other.

Stiles felt his eyes roll back as the pressure grew, he was making pained little noises into the towel, wasn’t Alan supposed to help?

“Shh, you may talk when it gets through.”

That didn’t make any se…

Then Stiles felt it, his eyes almost popping out of his head. Something fucking shifted, like a dam was broken down and the water just… moved. Almost like a living thing, sliding impossibly deeper into him.

“Oh god… oh god, oh god, oh god…” he couldn’t stop the words from coming out, it was too much. “Something is… I’m gonna die, oh god, something broke…”

“No,” Alan insisted, calm and confident. He didn’t understand how he could sound so sure, when he felt like he was being swallowed by what was happening. “Nothing is wrong; your colon goes around your abdomen, it has some sharp turns. We just helped the water get past a corner so it can fill you up completely.”

He finally stopped pressing on his belly and just rested his palm over Stiles’ navel.

“Come on, tell me how it feels,” he ordered, twisting the nozzle in his ass and starting to fuck him with it in tiny increments.

The water was coming again.

He wasn’t sure he was capable of forming coherent words; his mind was filled with an explosion of stimulations.

“Ah… oh god. I can’t… it’s too much… Please, please stop. I can’t do it…”

“Nonsense. You are already doing it, and I’m here to make sure that you succeed.” He kept thrusting into him, unbothered by Stiles’s constant, breathy moans.

“Are you enjoying it as much as you feared?” the man asked, Stiles could hear that he was smiling slightly.

He immediately clamped his mouth shut, not trusting whatever would come out of it. He didn’t, okay? He didn’t.

Alan tapped his hand against his stomach in warning.

“That was not a rhetorical question.”

“I - ah - I… hate it…” he managed finally. There. Good.

The man hummed and then the hand on his belly slid between his legs, the very tip of the fingers skirting over his cock. His cock, that was hanging hard and aching between his thighs. Stiles moaned.

“I do not tolerate lying, that’s why you’re usually gagged,” he commented conversationally, taking his hands off Stiles and standing up. “One more to go.”

Stiles kept up a steady chant of no-no-no with his face turned into the towel, but it didn’t do him any good. Alan was back in a minute, topping off the little water still in the hanging bottle with the last pitcher.

“This is the fourth quarter.”

Stiles was so caught up in the feeling of too-full-too-much that he almost didn’t notice Alan reaching between his legs and sliding the shoelace around the base of his cock and balls, pulling the cord lock mercilessly tight.

He moaned into his pillow loud and long and a bit desperate, before turning his head to the side, panting shakily.

“Please… ah…” He wasn’t even sure what he was asking for. The water was still flowing into him, even though he didn’t think there was any place left; his whole body felt full and tight. The pressure in his bowels was unfocused but overwhelming, pushing against his walls inside. Pushing against his prostate. His cock felt twice as sensitive now that it was bound, it kept twitching and drooling a steady stream of precome.

"You are forbidden to come, this is a punishment," Alan said, sounding almost distracted. "There's still more than a pint left."

He felt like he was about to burst.

It was getting harder to breath - not enough to send him into a panic, just a steady pressure that made it impossible to breath deeply.

He was crying in earnest, even the knowledge that it was almost over couldn’t silence the frantic voice in his head screaming in his head about how he couldn’t take a single drop more.

But he didn't have a say; the water was uncaring of his suffering, doing exactly what the laws of nature dictated, no matter what Stiles wanted. It was a distressing realization, being rendered so utterly helpless.

He never thought that getting so completely stripped of control could feel like this, like breaking apart at the seams in the most liberating way imaginable.

Alan reached under him again, stroking his stomach oh-so-gently and then pulled on his cock with a slack grip. It was maddening, he felt like he was balanced on that treacherous edge that preceded an orgasm, but instead of a brief tripping point it was stretched out into long, endless seconds with no end in sight.

He didn’t notice - didn’t even care - that he was constantly whining 'please, please, please' in a thready high pitched voice when Alan suddenly stopped touching him.

"That's it. Four quarters, you did it," he said, voice warm.

Stiles kept crying, louder than before and he didn't even understand why.

Alan’s fingers danced across the rim of his entrance, making him shiver even while his body was wrecked by sobbing so hard.

"I'm going to pull the tube out," he announced, ignoring Stiles’s immediate whimpers of alarm and continuing. "I will put in a plug. It's pretty small so you will have to clench down to keep it in place. Can you do that for me?”

Stiles didn’t have the strength to speak, so he just nodded as best as he could. He caught a glimpse of it in Alan’s hand, it was one of those weird pinkish orange sex-toys that they sold as ‘skin color’. He didn’t want to think about where the manager got it.

“Very good, get ready.”

It was quick, Alan’s clever fingers pulling the nozzle out and deftly replacing it with the plug, that felt terrifyingly thin and inadequate to the task. It took an awful, dread filled moment until he was sure that his muscles wouldn't betray him and manage to hold on to it, and even after that it was a struggle that made his skin prickle and break out in cold sweat.

Alan was talking to him.

"You're doing good, you're okay."

He undid the spreader bar and the ropes tying him to the eye bolt.

"I will help you up," he declared, sliding his arms around Stiles’s chest even as he whined in distress, not sure if he could make it.

It was hard. Gravity was working against him and he had to squeeze his eyes shut tightly in concentration, not even seeing where he was being led. His legs were trembling. He just put one foot in front of the other, gripping Alan like his life depended on it.

"Excellent, just a bit more," the man said, the calmness of his voice helping him almost as much as the arms holding him up.

They stopped finally, after what felt like a trip through half the world, Alan stood behind him - body a warm line of support at his back - and reached one hand down between his asscheeks, fingers pushing steadily at the base of the plug and keeping it in place.

"Open your eyes," he ordered, and Stiles did.

His breath hitched and he couldn’t help a new flood of tears running down his face as he took in his reflection in the mirror.

His belly was huge. With his skinny frame it looked bizarre, like he swallowed a watermelon whole or like he was... Pregnant.

"Go on, touch it," the manager told him.

He didn’t want to.

His hands moved on their own, feeling up the tight, smooth skin where he was bulging with the unbelievable pressure inside. His cock jerked almost violently.

Alan kept his arm around his chest, pulling his body to lean into him, it was the only thing keeping him on his feet.

His fingers moved on his distended belly in awe, his eyes glued to them, as he tried to make sense of the overwhelming sensations.

"Do you want to come?" Alan asked him. Stiles’s gaze snapped up to meet the man's in the mirror, swallowing dry and nodding in earnest before he even understood the question.

The manager hummed, staring at him evenly.

"Should I let you? This is a punishment after all... Have you learned your lesson?"

His heart was hammering in his throat, quick and frantic.

He needed to come.

"I... Please, please let me," his fingers spasmed on his stomach, sending the water shifting and gurgling. "Aah-ah... Oh god, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... Please... I will be good, I promise! Oh god..."

"Yes, you will. Very well, keep your hands where the are."

He carefully let go of Stiles’s chest and reached behind his balls, loosening the shoelace. It was almost enough to get him off. He tried to lock his knees afraid of collapsing.

Alan started jacking him - he wasn't teasing this time -, his grip was almost painfully tight, moving over his cock fast and intent.

Stiles almost fell with the force of his orgasm, the manager just barely catching him before he tipped forward into the sink. His vision was cloudy with pleasure even as he could feel a small trickle of water running down the inside of his thigh where it squeezed out beside the plug Alan kept in place.

“There you are. Come, let’s get that water out of you.”

Stiles was shaking, making the two small steps with his help to the toilet on rubber legs and sat down awkwardly, like pregnant women do. Alan was still holding the plug, kneeling between his thighs in front of the toilet. He caught Stiles’ eyes.

“I’m going to pull it out now. You will keep your hands on your belly and stay right here, even if you think you are finished,” he ordered, and he nodded, panting through his mouth.

The water exploded out of him violently, making it hard to breath for the first few moments. He felt his face burn, but thankfully Alan didn’t stay and watch him; he stood and ruffled his hair.

“I will be right back,” he announced and then left him alone in the bathroom.

Stiles could hear the front door closing behind him.

***

He was still sitting there, obediently, when he heard the man come back inside and putter around in the room before coming to get him

Most of the water was gone, but he was thankful for Alan’s warning, because even after he thought it was over there were sudden bursts of liquid evacuating him from time to time.

“Okay?” the manager asked, stepping up to him and palming his blazing cheeks.

Stiles nodded, feeling somewhat dazed and tired, even though he just woke up not that long ago.

“Good. You’re finished with talking for the day,” he said with finality. “l won’t be giving your gag back right now, so I expect you to behave.”

Stiles nodded his head again, licking his lips. He didn’t feel like he wanted to talk, he had no idea what he could say to Alan after this, so it was probably better that he wasn’t allowed.

The toilet was flushed and he was washed down just like yesterday; tied and tethered to the handlebar in the shower, even though he had no inclination to fight. It was almost comforting; the hands soaping up his body were sure and gentle, and he just closed his eyes and let them do whatever they wanted.

He was toweled dry, had his wrists bound to his collar and then led back to the room.

Maybe it was because he was still kind of high on endorphins or whatever, but his brain couldn’t immediately process what he was seeing.

There was a piece of white fabric spread out on the bed, the corners folded so it was a sort of triangle shape with some kind of a large, long and squarish pad thing laid on the middle of it.

The whole thing didn’t make sense until he noticed the see-through plastic pants beside it.

It was a diaper.

His whole body went completely rigid for a second, then he turned on his heels and straight up stumbled into Alan who was standing close behind him, probably anticipating his reaction.

He expected to be manhandled into the... the thing, but instead the man pulled him onto his chest, putting his arms around his trembling frame.

"Shh, it’s alright," he murmured, palming the back of his head. Stiles hid his face in his shoulder, this was just... too much.

"I'm not particularly interested in infantilism," Alan explained calmly. "But you will still be leaking for a while and I will not have you rushing to the bathroom every few minutes… It's only reasonable to prevent any accidents from happening," he said, so fucking casually that it set Stiles' teeth on edge. Nothing about this was casual. He wasn't... He wasn't incontinent or something.

Alan kept running his fingers through his hair as he talked, his arm a warm, unmovable band around his back.

He was sure that he would be okay, maybe he would need some bathroom breaks, but who cares? It was still better than wearing a fucking diaper.

Alan kept cradling his head and started to run his other hand up and down along his spine.

"You are going to get on the bed and I will put it on for you," his voice was confident, even though Stiles was shaking apart. "You're going to get the cover on to make sure that nothing gets messy and then we will go to the office."

Stiles kept shaking his head against the firm shoulder in silent denial but the man didn’t seem to care.

"You will get under the counter, keep my cock nice and warm while I’m  busy and you will let the diaper take care of the rest."

Alan grasped his shoulders and turned him back towards the bed.

"Come now, be good," he said as Stiles’s breathing sped up.

He didn’t know what to do. He was confused and scared and he desperately wanted this to not happen, but he found himself going with the gentle hands urging him forward. Maybe his brain was broken.

Alan didn’t immediately wrap the fabric around him, first he procured a little tube of cream from his pocket and rubbed a dollop of it across his belly.

"Your skin had quite the stretch," he explained "this should help it recover."

It was embarrassing to just lie there and take it, but he had no idea what else he could do.

The manager folded the diaper around him with a practiced ease Stiles didn’t want to think about. The thick pad felt uncomfortable and alien between his legs, but the sides were fixed to the front with a pair of safety pins, and before he could even comprehend the complete humiliation of the situation Alan was pulling the plastic pants up his legs and ordering him to lift his hips.

Stiles did, though just hearing the crinkling of the cover made him wish that he could actually die of mortification.

“There you go,” the man said, pulling him up and dressing him in a pair of sweatpants and a jacket that weren’t his. Stiles stiffened in resistance by the door, remembering that they weren’t alone in the motel anymore, but Alan pulled him forward easily.

“It’s okay, Raf already left this morning while you were sleeping.”

Yeah, that was good. He could handle being around Alan like this, but he was sure he would kick and scream - and have an aneurism - if anyone else turned up.

The manager seemed to understand him even without his words, and his eyes turned warm as he led him across the yard to the office.

He was stripped as soon as they were inside, just like yesterday, but he didn’t get the gag or the nose-hook, it made his chest swell with gratitude, he wasn’t sure he could take any more embarrassment right now.

Alan released his hands and then tied them behind his back, but not before having him drink some awful tasting sports drink. He threw down a pillow for him to kneel on before tethering him under the counter.

At first Stiles flinched every time he moved and he heard the plastic pants creak,  but after he found a comfortable position it wasn’t so bad, he could almost - but just almost - forget it.

It was strange how much different it was to have Alan’s soft cock in his mouth without the gag; he could close his lips around the flaccid flesh and he had to admit that he liked the silkiness of the skin against his own.

It was comforting. Of course he couldn’t completely ignore that he was wearing a diaper - that was just not possible - but kneeling there and concentrating on Alan filled him with a sense of serenity he didn’t want to observe too closely.

He was completely ignored, and he found that he actually preferred that; it was a nice change after spending his morning in the manager’s laser focus. His muscles relaxed and he closed his eyes, enjoying the weight of the cock in his mouth.

He didn’t know how much time passed until finally Alan started to grow hard. He was almost annoyed by it, but that didn't stop him from starting to work his tongue around the sensitive head.

The man reached down for him - acknowledging his existence for the first time since he fed Stiles his dick - and cupped his face in both hands, wedging his thumbs into his mouth along with his quickly fattening cock before starting to slowly thrust into him.

Stiles could feel saliva seeping out at the corner of his lips, dripping down his chin.

He swallowed as best as he could with his mouth stretched so wide, and breathed through his nose. Alan was holding his head steady, fucking his face with long strokes that bumped his cockhead past his tonsils, but thankfully it wasn’t that hard to take it anymore.

He didn’t gag, but he had to work for it a bit. He idly wondered whether his gag reflex was gone for good, or it would come back if he didn’t swallow dicks for a few days... A particularly deep thrust had his whole body tensing and then - to his horror - his stomach twisted and lurched and there was a spurt of water squeezing out of him.

He was so panicked that he missed the rhythm and choked, his heart was beating fast and terrified as he felt the wetness spread between his legs.

Alan paused for a second with his cock halfway down his throat and tapped his fingers against his jaw.

"Don't get distracted, that's why you’re wearing a diaper, you have more important things to focus on."

That was all the warning he got before the fat dick was sliding into him again. He squeezed his eyes shut, face turning a deep red knowing that Alan caught on to him.

The manager sped up, pumping his hips fast and steady, going deep, but not trying to stay in his throat until he was close to coming.

As soon as Stiles felt him get just that bit harder he was pulled in close, Alan cradling his head against his stomach until his eyes got blurry from the lack of oxygen, just grinding into him.

He didn’t pull out completely after finishing - just far enough to let him breath - and went back to whatever he had been doing.

It took a long time for Stiles to get his breathing back to normal and it wasn't even about the deepthroating. The diaper was feeling heavier with the weight of the water; thankfully nothing leaked outside of the cover, but it was still disconcerting. He needed something to take his mind off it.

Alan smelled good; now that he was soft again Stiles could hold his whole length in his mouth without struggling for breath. He pushed close - nose pressed against the manager’s scratchy pubic hair - and just breathed him in, enjoying the intimacy of it.

Time seemed to pass weirdly. He was pretty sure he had been kneeling under the counter for a long time, but it was hard to say with nothing that could clue him in.

Sometimes Alan would shift his weight from one feet to the other, but he didn't show any interest in Stiles. It was still the strangest thing; surrendering himself to the knowledge that right now he was nothing but a warm hole to keep a cock in, but it was already starting to grow familiar, washing over him in comforting, gentle waves.

Unexpectedly, Alan looked down at him, catching his eyes as he stroked a finger down the bridge of Stiles’ nose.

“I need to use the toilet, I’ll be back in a second,” he said, before pulling out and disappearing in the rooms behind the office. Stiles could hear a toilet being flushed and it made him become aware of just how full his bladder was. Shit, he needed to take a leak so bad.

True to his word the manager was back shortly, stepping up to the counter, but Stiles refused to open his mouth, hoping to let him to know about his own urgent situation.

Alan raised an eyebrow at the stubborn expression on his face and then crouched down in front of him.

“What is it?” he asked, not exactly impatient, but clearly letting him know that he had more important things to do.

Stiles shifted on his knees in the universal sign of someone who needs to use a bathroom, and that had the corner of the man’s mouth twitch.

“I don’t see how that’s a problem,” he said, reaching out and patting his groin through the diaper, making the plastic pants crinck.

Stiles felt his eyes grow wide. He couldn’t mean… His chest was squeezing tight with some emotion he couldn’t identify. He won’t… He can’t just…

Alan didn’t seem to care about his inner struggle, he stood, holding his cock out for stiles expectantly.

Well, fuck that. He wasn’t about to just let this happen. He kept his mouth firmly closed. Alan sighed, fiddling around on the countertop before bending down to him; he took one of Stiles’ nipples between his fingers and pinched it with enough force to make him scream. His cock made an aborted twitch as the pain raced down his spine, but more importantly the gag was back in his mouth before he could react.

He looked at the man with sullen betrayal, not expecting such a dirty trick, but Alan wasn’t fazed.

“You have taken your punishment wonderfully,” he explained, rubbing at Stiles’ lips that were stretched around the ring, “and I know this is difficult, so I won’t hold a little resistance against you. But that doesn’t mean it won’t happen, whether you want it or not.”

Stiles tried to turn his head away, not wanting to hear what the manager had to say, but he just hooked his thumb between his teeth, and kept him in place.

“This is your last day here, so I think it’s time for some honesty. You have learnt a lot about the things you like in the last days, and this will be just another lesson; maybe you hate the diaper, maybe you won’t like wetting yourself,” his eyebrow twitched, like he had a hard time with taking those words seriously. “but you love that I make you do these things anyway, no matter how hard you try to deny it.”

Stiles closed his eyes, trying to shut Alan’s voice out of his head. That wasn’t true. It wasn’t.

The man continued to hold his head in place and slid his other hand down to his belly, just above the edge of the diaper. His palm stilled until Stiles opened his eyes and caught his gaze.

“I will give you a few seconds to start and if you can’t, I will help,” he said.

Stiles looked at him with wide, helpless eyes. This was even more impossible than just discretely letting go; there was no way he could do it with Alan watching him so close. The manager seemed to understand his panic because he gently petted his belly.

“That’s alright. Try to relax,” he ordered.

The manager’s hand flattened out over his abdomen, just below his navel and started to push down on his bladder. His eyes rolled back into his head at the feeling of the fullness inside, he had to go so bad, but he just… as little sense as it made, he didn’t know how.

Alan didn’t give up; he pulled the fingers from his mouth and reached for his nipple again, but this time he didn’t pinch, just brushed the saliva-slick fingertips around and around the nub - almost tickling - that sent a shivery tingle straight to Stiles’ groin; it made his muscles twitch, and just like that - he was peeing.

His eyes welled with tears as he felt the warm wetness spreading through the water absorbent pad between his thighs. His mind was running an endless chant of ‘oh-my-god-I’m-pissing-myself’ that wasn’t exactly helping. Alan kept pushing down on his abdomen, cutting any chance he had of stopping the flow. He felt dizzy.

“That’s right. Just let it go.”

Stiles couldn’t help glancing down. There was a yellowish stain growing at the front of the diaper - the pad probably getting too full to hold everything in - but the cover was still holding. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from it, even as the stream of pee slowed and then finished.

He could feel the diaper sagging with the added weight.

The manager reached down to pull the cover up a bit, pulling the elastic waist away from his skin for a second.

The smell was like a slap to the face. It wasn’t particularly putrid, but it was unmistakably the odor of human urine and it made his belly twist and turn.

His cock twitched.

Stiles tried but couldn’t hold back a moan of utter humiliation, he didn’t want to call Alan’s attention to his hardening cock, but it was losing battle from the start, the man seemed to notice everything.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t even quirk his lips in a worldless ‘I told you so’, he just slid the hand he had on Stiles’ belly down to his groin and started rubbing him through the diaper. The wet fabric felt disgusting, dragging almost painfully against the sensitive skin of his dick, but it didn’t matter, because he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that he actually wet himself. He wet himself in front of Alan. And it got him hard.

He was panting laboriously, there were tears running down his face, but his orgasm approached almost alarmingly fast. Alan stopped stroking and just squeezed his length hard through the layers separating them and that was it. He almost choked himself with his collar as his body sagged forward with the force of his release, but Alan was there, catching him and quickly releasing his leash.

“There you are, that was beautiful,” he said, rubbing his hands soothingly over his back. “That’s okay, just a breath for a second.”

Stiles did just that, not caring that he was getting saliva all over the front of the man’s shirt. His breathing slowly calmed, but he still couldn’t manage to look at Alan.

“Come on, we will get you cleaned up, and then you will have a nap…” he told him after a few minutes, getting him on his feet and wrestling him into his clothes.

Stiles’ brain was foggy, like he’d used up every morsel of energy had for the day, so he just concentrated on not falling asleep and let Alan do whatever he wanted.

***

**  
  
  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the first half of Sunday, and that means that the next will be the last chapter of Room 27.  
> I have some more-or-less formed ideas about a sequel, if there's any interest on your part, dear readers, so let me know!
> 
> Also, happy V-day!
> 
> (Also-also... it's getting near to midnight where I am, and I'm pretty fucking tired, so sorry if there are more typos than usual, I will try to get them under control when I can actually thing)


	5. Sunday - Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. This is it guys! Last chapter! I hope you're buckled in, because you're in for a ride.

Stiles woke curled to his side, with his hands tied to the headboard and the unmistakable feeling of fingers moving in his ass.

He moaned quietly through his gag as they scissored inside him.

He could faintly remember being cleaned in the shower and then Alan putting him to bed. He didn’t understand how he could sleep so much, but he couldn’t help it; he just felt exhausted every time Alan did something that shook his world to the core, and that happened pretty often in the last days.

His hips spasmed, trying to get more of that delicious friction.

“There you are,” the man said, pumping a few more times before pulling out.

Stiles whined a bit at the loss, feeling well rested and placid. His cock was half-hard, jumping against his thigh as it filled, eager for attention.

Alan turned him onto his back, waiting until he opened his eyes. He stroked the back of his fingers over his forehead when he managed to focus on him.

“I have some shopping to do. I would love to take you with me, but I doubt you are ready to walk around in bondage under your clothes.”

Stiles swallowed, he doubted that too, even if his dick twitched with interest at the idea.

The manager untied his hands from the headboard, but not for long; they were immediately fixed to his collar. Alan helped him up, and he was led to the bathroom. His stomach squirmed in a mix of nervous anticipation and unease. He thought he would have a love-hate relationship with bathrooms for the rest of his life.

There was a plunger stuck to the floor tiles between the shower and the tub; it had a skinny looking plastic handle that was already shining from being slicked up. Stiles felt his steps falter at the sight. He was sure the manager cleaned up everything - he seemed to be very throughout about that -, but there was something inherently dirty about it.

"This is your homework while I'm gone," he explained, pulling him closer and pushing at his shoulders until he knelt down. "You're going to ride the handle, and try to get yourself off."

Alan put a hand between his shoulder blades and bent him forwards so he could slot the slippery tip of the grip into his ass. He was opened from the fingers so it wasn’t too hard, in fact the hard plastic felt a bit too thin, thinner than the manager’s cock - and too lubed up; there wasn’t even a hint of friction.

He straightened up slowly. The shaft wasn’t long - less than a foot - even as he sat on his heels there was only a slight discomfort.

The man ran his fingers through his hair to get his attention.

“I will be gone for less than an hour. If the handle slips out you won’t be able to get it back in without your hands, so I will definitely know. If it isn’t in your ass when I get back, you will be punished. If you can’t get off… you won’t be punished exactly, but I have a feeling that you won’t like how things will be handled.”

Stiles shivered. Okay. Okay, he could do this, he would just need to nail his prostate and shoot his load. That’s all.

Alan gave him that little half-smile, stepping back and looking him up and down.

“Come on, show me.”

He swallowed and flexed his thighs, rocking his body up and down on the hardness inside him. It was too slippery, he could barely feel it, still, his cock twitched with the way the manager was looking at him.

“Very good, keep it up,” he said before he walked out the door. Stiles could hear the lock being turned behind him.

The bathroom seemed awfully empty with just his breathing echoing in the silence, but he had a lot of time, he could do it.

***

He couldn’t fucking do it.

He had no idea how much time has passed since Alan left, but it felt like a lifetime. The bathroom wasn’t warm, but he was covered in a sheen of sweat, muscles trembling with fatigue, but he just couldn’t get off… and, shit he couldn’t _stop_.

He was so close, if he arched his back just right the smooth end of the handle slid across his prostate, but it was always for just a fucking second. He tried, he tried stopping at that exact moment when it was rubbing him where he wanted it, but everything was too slippery, the plastic wasn’t thick enough to stay there, it always slid off the small bundle of nerves.

He tried thinking about Alan, about his fingers digging deep into him, milking him empty, but if anything it just made him feel more desperate. Remembering Raf’s thick, fat cock ramming into him was even worse, but once he started he couldn’t stop and the reality of riding a plunger became even more degrading and unfulfilling.

He could hardly raise his body anymore, his thighs were simply finished with working, they twitched uselessly, a hairbreadth away from getting fucking cramps. Stiles couldn’t do anything but sway himself forward and back, his cock hard and aching and bobbing in the air without any hope of getting friction.

He considered just standing up and rubbing himself against something - Alan and his punishments could go to hell and stay there - but by now he didn’t think he would be able to stand on his own.

Stiles felt his eyes well with tears from sheer and utter frustration. He was so fucking close, so close he could almost taste it, but…

The door opened, and Alan was standing there, leaning against the doorway, calm and collected as always. He was holding some kind of bundle, but Stiles’s eyes were blurry, and all his concentration was taken up by whining at the man. He needed… just something.

“I’m a bit early,” the man said, glancing at his watch, “so I will give you another minute to finish.”

And then he just stood there.

It was so fucking unfair.

Stiles made a last effort, ordering his thighs to lift him up again. It was painfull, he didn’t think he will be able to walk tomorrow. The handle glided in and out of him without giving him any relief.

He gave up, completely defeated. There was no way he could come from just this. Stiles slumped forward, making sure not to let the plunger slide free with the last morsel of his sanity.

“Alright,” Alan said, coming up to him and helping him shuffle forward and off the fucking useless plastic rod. It was almost a relief to be rid of that constant, never-enough teasing sensation. He just gazed up at the man, grateful that it was over.

The manager crouched down beside him, gripping him tightly around the shoulders.

“Ready?” he asked, but didn’t wait for an answer before pressing the bundle to his groin. Stiles screamed with everything he had, his brain horrified into stillness by the cold. An ice pack, it was a fucking ice pack and Alan was squeezing it against his cock.

He thrashed around weakly, he was so worn out that he could barely move. It was pathetic.

It was freezing, his cock was going to fall of.

The man didn’t let go of him for long seconds that seemed like the literal ice-age, murmuring against his hair, shushing him. It was so cold, so, so cold, his mind couldn’t get over it.

Finally, the manager took the pack away, gentling his hold and letting Stiles lean against him, completely overwhelmed by what happened. He barely had enough strength to tremble.

“That’s it, it’s taken care of. You don't have to worry about it anymore,” Alan said soothingly, reaching down and gingerly kneading his - now completely flaccid- dick between his fingers, getting the blood flow going again. He couldn’t feel any of it, everything was completely numb between his legs.

The man squeezed his shoulders quickly, almost affectionate.

“Try to stay soft for the rest of the afternoon. You’re not allowed to get hard until I’m ready to play with you,” he said, pulling him to his feet with difficulty. His legs weren’t much help in supporting him.

Stiles didn’t think that was going to be a problem.

***

He could barely remember how he got into the office. He was still tied up and he wasn’t even sure that he wore clothes on the way. He expected to be ushered under the counter, but instead Alan led him to the rooms behind, straight to a little kitchen.

All the surfaces were covered in shopping bags, it seemed like the manager didn’t do anything half-way. There was a large can of crisco sitting near the sink. It looked familiar, but it took a few minutes for Stiles to realize that it was what Alan used as lube. He felt his face flush, and it kind of terrified him; he wasn’t ready to find out what would happen if he got hard before he was allowed.

He was made to kneel by the table while the man disappeared deeper into his living quarters, returning with an armful of old, scratchy blankets. He piled them under the table, making a little lumpy nest before looking at Stiles expectantly.

“Come on, get in there. I have things to do and I won’t have you underfoot.”

Stiles felt a wave of humiliation wash over him, but he did as he was told, not feeling adventurous enough to try the man’s patience right now. He crawled in awkwardly with his hands still tied to his collar; he could only worm himself in slowly on his knees and elbows, acutely aware of his ass jutting upwards.

After he managed to get on the blankets it was actually really great to be horizontal. His thighs were still trembling with the strain he put them through, and he sighed in relief the second the weight was off them.

The table was small and the nest even smaller; he had to curl up in a fetal position to fit into it, but Alan was already busy packing his purchase away. He turned on the radio, whistling to the song that came on, banging around in the cupboards and acting like Stiles didn’t even exist.

He actually dozed again, on-and-off, balancing on the verge of falling asleep. All he could see of Alan were his legs as he walked around. He had slippers on and there was a hole at the heel of his right sock, but it was neatly stitched up. Stiles had a hard time imagining him sitting in a chair and mending socks.

He wondered if this was how pets felt, watching their masters, but then realized that the comparison wasn’t right. People with pets didn’t ignore them completely, not even when they were busy.

He was even less, just a pile of dirty laundry kicked into a corner - out of sight, out of mind - until someone had the time to load the washing machine. He probably should have freaked out about it, but it felt... Not good, exactly, just somehow comforting.

It didn't make any sense, if anything he would have said he was attention seeking. And he did enjoy the intent, laser focus that Alan fixed on him when they were doing something, but it was kind of overwhelming after a time; he liked the balance of it, of feeling like he was the middle of the world and then suddenly being thrust to the sidelines.

He had no idea what that said about him as a person. Maybe he just liked being whatever Alan wanted him to be. _That_ , he didn’t want to think about.

His thoughts wandered. He didn’t dare thinking about tomorrow when he would have to leave, he stayed on safe topics. What was his roommate doing right now? Did Scott already get back to Beacon Hills? Was his dad eating okay?

Alan finished putting things away from the sound of it. He was cooking something. He could hear meat sizzling in a pan, the smell of it sneaking under the table. He was kind of hungry, but not enough to really bother him.

He napped a little, rubbing his cheek against the rough fabric of the blanket under his head sleepily. It smelt a little dusty, but clean.

He was woken from his slumber by knuckles rapping against the tabletop.

“Come on out,” Alan called, he sounded a bit distracted. “Dinner’s ready.”

Stiles blinked his eyes into focus and then slowly crawled out from under the table. His thighs were sore.

There was a small stool in the corner with a plate and a bottle of water on it. He made his way over while the manager set the table for himself, carefully stepping around Stiles. Dinner was roasted chicken breast with baked potatoes and braised carrots. Everything was cut to bite-sized bits, but there was no silverware. The bottle was opened, with a straw stuck into it.

When he finally managed to get onto his knees in front of the stool Alan unclasped his gag. Stiles moved his jaw, he was mostly used to having his mouth pried so wide, but it still felt weird whenever it was taken out. He waited for the man to untie his hands, but when nothing happened for a few seconds he looked behind himself and saw that he was already sitting at the table, eating with his back towards Stiles.

He squirmed around, getting hungrier by the minute with the food right in front of him, but he felt awkward and jittery. Self Preservation won in the end, and he leant down, picking up a piece of meat with his lips. It was pretty good. Not good enough to make the growing unease in his chest lessen, but he wasn’t in a position to do anything about it.

He ate slowly. His hands felt tired, being bent so oddly against his chest for such a long time. It wasn't so bad when he was lying down, but now he couldn't help being bothered by it. It was slow, having to fold himself in half for every bite, but he did finish eventually, sucking the water down to the last drop.

Stiles stared at his empty plate nervously. He didn’t want to go back under the table. As centering as it was at first, he couldn’t bare the thought of crawling back onto the blankets.

He could hear a chair scraping against the floor as Alan stood, taking his dishes to the sink. He turned to Stiles with a paper towel and gently wiped his face before untying his hands.

"Stay," he said, picking up his plate too, before sitting back down. Stiles watched him, waiting for... something. He almost fell on his face in his hurry when the manager motioned for him to come closer.

His legs were shaking, but thankfully Alan didn’t expect him to stand for long; he was pulled down to straddle the man's lap, facing him.

His body was pulled and prodded until he had his head resting on Alan's shoulder, breathing quietly against his neck with his arms loose around the manager’s waist.

There was a palm laying on the small of his back. It felt very warm.

"A little quiet time is good for you," Alan explained. Stiles could feel the words resonate through the thin layer of the shirt between their chest.

"It helps teaching you that you can only get as much attention as I'm willing to give you."

He closed his eyes, snuggling a bit closer. He kind of got that now. There was a certain kind of security in knowing that he had no control over the degree of their interactions. He didn't have to worry about being too much or all over the place.

Alan slid his hand up and down along his spine, making him melt into the hard body against his.

"It gives both of us a little breathing space before we do something intense."

Stiles knew that he should worry about that, because apparently something 'intense' was in his near future, but he felt relaxed and safe right now, and that was the only thing he cared about.

He realized, in retrospect, that he had a lot of quiet time this weekend - just maybe not _quite_ as quiet as this one -, but he mostly spent it warming cock under the counter. It was a pretty good system actually, if he thought about it.

"I've prepared what we will need tonight, but we still have some time to laze around, so you should just rest while I do the crosswords."

Stiles nodded into Alan’s shoulder, closing his eyes. He listened to the sounds of paper being shuffled around, and the click of a pen.

It was a good plan as far as he was concerned.

***

He was startled awake by Alan tapping his ass.

"Time to get started," he said easily. He seemed to be in a very good mood, urging Stiles to stand, and then getting two Tupperware boxes out of the fridge.

He couldn’t see what was in them, but his belly squirmed with anticipation. The man dig around in one of the cupboards and handed him a T shaped corkscrew and the can crisco. Stiles looked at the corkscrew dumbly, but then he was given his shoes and a large sweatshirt that reached almost to his mid-thighs and ushered outside.

He couldn’t even believe he was out in the open bare assed, but it only took a few seconds to get into room 27 so he didn't have time to freak out about it. It was already dark outside, though he had no idea what the time was.

He undressed as soon as they were inside without Alan prompting him, and stood by the bed, waiting. Spending time snuggled together made him enthusiastic and optimistic about whatever they were going to do. He wanted to be good.

“Very good,” he said, pushing gently on his shoulder, “on your knees.”

Stiles obeyed, glancing up at the man as he started to pull the covers from the bed. The man caught his eyes and gave him a small half-smile.

“Hands behind your back, head down, gaze on the floor,” he dictated, but there was no reprimand in his voice so Stiles didn’t get too worried. “I'm going to tell you how things are going to work."

He could hear Alan walking around the room, taking things out from the bottom of the TV stand.

"From now on, you are allowed to get hard, you may come as many times as you can."

Stiles couldn't help letting out a relieved breath. He wasn't seriously scared that Alan wouldn't let him come at all, but it was still good to know for sure.

"I don't want to tie you up, but you will keep your hands where I want them. You will not get your gag back. I might have to check on how you're doing, but other than answering direct questions, you will not talk. Making noises is okay - I think it will be quite impossible for you not to - but nothing else."

His cock twitched against his thigh. Whatever Alan was planning seemed to be big. If he would need to give feedback then it will be bad. So far he was only allowed to talk during his punishment, and that wasn't fun.

The manager must have seen him tense up, because he ruffled his hair the next time he passed him by.

"It's okay. You will have a lot of fun tonight. We will start small and work our way up to the main event."

Yeah, that didn't sound intimidating. At all.

"Alright, on the bed," Alan ordered, and Stiles scrambled to obey.

There were only the sheets left on the mattress and a towel with the bolster pillow under it. He stopped for a second, uncertain.

"On your back, plant your feet on the bed."

Okay, he could do that.

After he got settled with the pillow under his hips Alan sat down between his parted legs. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and he was holding a little container that had some herbal smelling balm in it.

The man took out some of the creme, and then proceeded to rub it into his thighs. Stiles moaned. There was a warm, almost burning sensation, but it sank into his sore muscles like the touch of an angel. Alan dug his fingers in firmly, massaging the tense tendons until he felt like his legs were butter.

By the time the manager was finished with both his thighs Stiles was basically a puddle of goo in the middle of the bed, breathing softly through his mouth and making little, faint noises of pleasure.

His cock was resting on his stomach, chubbed up nicely.

"Good. I want you to stay nice and relaxed. Get a hold on the headboard, you are not allowed to let it go."

Stiles reached up blindly, still floating on the high of finally getting rid of the soreness of his muscles, and grabbed the bars of the headboard above his head while he listened to Alan washing his hands in the bathroom.

He didn't open his eyes even as he heard the man come back and open one of the Tupperware containers. He was curious, but right now he was just... goo.

Alan got back between his legs and a second later he could feel his fingers dancing around his entrance, slick with lube - well, crisco - and slowly pushing inside. They scissored for a few moments, and then disappeared, giving place for something much thicker.

Alan didn't play around, he didn't stretch him anymore, but started to push whatever it was into Stiles. It burned going in,  thick, a bit thicker than the man's cock, the slight pain of stretching had Stiles's eyes snap open.

The manager caught his gaze and held it even as he applied more pressure, pushing the blunt object over the ring of muscle. Stiles made a small noise of discomfort.

"That's okay. All you need to do is relax for me. I want you to enjoy the stretch," he said, reaching down with his other hand to keep his asscheeks apart.

Stiles let out a slow breath. He couldn't see what was being fucked into him from this position, but it felt smooth, with a little bit of texture; not much, just enough to feel the bumps - or whatever they were - as they slid in and out of him.

He was fully hard by now, the slight tingle of pain bringing the pleasure into sharper focus. He couldn't help shifting his hips just a little, but Alan immediately stopped moving the thing inside him.

"No moving," he said, waiting a few seconds to make sure that Stiles obeyed before getting back to the slow motion he had going.

"You had trouble with your homework, so I think we should start with teaching you how to use your prostate," he commented casually after a few minutes, shifting his hold and twisting the object to a bit different angle, nailing the sensitive bundle of nerves on the second try.

Stiles moaned in surprise, so loud that he felt his whole body flush with embarrassment. His toes curled in the sheets as Alan kept doing it again and again, not even fucking him anymore just rubbing the tip of the thing deep inside him, right where he needed it.

It was good, but not good enough. The pleasure kept building at the base of Stiles's spine, but his cock was lying untouched, dribbling precome and he... he didn't think he could do it. All he needed was a... a touch of a feather would have been enough, but it wasn't coming.

He kept moaning - not sure he could even stop if he tried - his grip going white on the headboard as he fought the urge to let go and just jerk off. Just a bit.

Alan hummed, keeping up the torturous grind against his prostate.

"That's it, you're almost there," he said, sliding his hand up from where he was holding his ass open to his perineum, teasing it with the tip of his fingers.

"Come," he ordered, pushing down firmly on a spot behind his balls that had Stiles choke on his own saliva and do exactly that.

He didn't even completely understand what happened. His orgasm was intense, pulsing through his body in crumbling waves until he was left there, trembling and sweaty.

He was still staring at the ceiling, trying to get his brain to boot back up when Alan pulled the thing out of his ass, and held it up for him to see.

Stiles turned beet red, because of course. A fucking cucumber. Literally.

"I thought we could play with whatever nature can provide us with, it's a good thing the grocery store had a great selection," Alan said deadpan, though his eyes were teasing, but his gaze quickly turned intent as he looked down at his hole.

He put the vegetable aside and slid two fingers in, quickly adding a third.

Stiles felt the muscles in his thighs twitch; though he had no idea if they wanted to close or fall open even wider. Alan fingered him, rotating his wrist and making him take the digits as far as they could go. He was loosened up already, so it wasn't painful, but still managed to take his breath away.

"Excellent. I think you're ready for something more."

He pulled his fingers out, and took an ear of fresh corn out of the box. Stiles felt his eyes go wide. It was clean, the pointy end neatly cut off.

He almost said something - said _no_ -, but remembered in time and just let out a whiny little _'nnn'_ sound in protest. Aland didn't even look at him. He took the corkscrew and screwed it into the thicker end of the cob until the whole thing was gone with only the polished wood handle visible. He took a generous amount of crisco and slicked up the corn.

The fingers were soon back in his ass - all three of them -, even more slippery than before, scissoring and pushing at his sphincter to get it to relax.

Stiles closed his eyes, trying to prepare himself, but he couldn't help clenching up then he felt the bumpy texture pushing against him.

The manager put a hand on his belly, rubbing in soothing circles, uncaring that he was basically massaging his come into his skin.

"Shh, it's okay. I need you to open up, you are going to love the feeling of it."

Stiles took a shuddery breath and made a conscious effort to relax his hole, and on his next exhale Alan pushed, the vegetable entering him slowly, but mercilessly. He actually stopped breathing for a second; the feeling of the kernels bumping past the sensitive rim so alien that his body didn't know what to do with it.

The corn was thick. Thicker than the cucumber had been, and much, much thicker than a cock. And the texture... Everything was slicked up, but there was no way to ignore the raised surface rubbing against the walls of his insides, setting every single nerve ending on fire.

"That's it," Alan said, giving his cock a gentle tug as a reward when he remembered how to breath again. "All you have to do is enjoy it."

His dick was still too spent to get up again, or at least that was what he thought until the corn went deep enough to slide against his prostate, making him shout with the sensation as the round, smooth kernels pushed against it. He didn't get hard immediately, but his over sensitive flesh stopped going soft and started twitching.

His mouth stayed open, he didn't know if he just forgot to close it, or if his brain was too frayed to give out simple commands.

With the corkscrew in, Alan could push the whole length of the corn inside, holding onto the handle, and he did, fucking Stiles at glacial pace. He almost wanted him to do it faster, because this way he could feel every bump in high definition and he wasn't sure the stimulation won't just kill him.

It went on for a long time, the manager never changed pace, he kept everything painfully slow and even. He didn't try hitting Stiles's prostate directly, but the corn was thick enough that he didn't need to.

He was covered in a sheen of sweat by the time he got completely hard again. It wasn't as bad as it had been when he was milked, but there was definitely a touch of too-much-too-soon going on that made him burn almost painfully on the inside.

"Would you like to come again?" he asked, looking him the eyes.

He blinked, dazed and confused until Alan twisted the corn just so.

"That was a direct question," he reminded calmly.

Stiles swallowed, trying to make his throat work. Wasn’t it too soon? He didn't know if he would be able, if it would even be possible... The indecision must have showed on his face, because Alan’s lips twitched.

"Do you want me to _make_ you?" he asked.

Oh. Oh, that was different.

"Y-yeah..." he managed, breathy and weak, and immediately the manager pushed the corn deep, letting it go with the handle of the corkscrew resting in his crack.

He took his dick into his hand, palming his balls with the other but didn’t start jacking him as Stiles hoped, just pushed his thumb against his piss slit and rubbed there hard and unyielding, like he wanted to make some invisible speck of dirt disappear.

Stiles made a sound he didn’t know he was capable of - something between a cry and a whine - the head of his dick felt like it was burning or stabbed with tiny needles. Alan squeezed his balls almost painfully and dug his knuckles into the flesh behind them and just like that, Stiles was coming again.

His vision whited out, body going unbelievably tight and contorting around the intrusion in his hole that only increased the pressure on his prostate, triggering aftershock after aftershock.

Alan was fucking him with the corn again by the time he regained his senses.

"You're doing very good," he said, going a bit faster now that his muscles grew placid, but still keeping it easy. He twisted his wrist from time to time, making little bursts of pain-pleasure explode behind his eyelids.

He waited for Stiles to come down from the height of orgasm before pulling out, immediately replacing the vegetables with insistent fingers. Stiles couldn’t even tell how many there were.

“I need you nice and loose for the next bit,” Alan said, reaching for the second Tupperware one handed, popping the lid off with practiced ease.

Stiles gave a little whimper as the man pulled away, leaving him empty. It felt almost unnatural to have nothing in his hole after so much stimulation.

Alan pulled out a hard boiled, cleaned egg from the box.

That… What?

The manager carefully slicked the shiny, white egg up and then pushed the tip of it against his entrance. Stiles shivered, it was cold - firm and kind of rubbery at the same time. His brain didn’t know what to do with the information that there was an egg about to be pushed inside him.

“Relax,” Alan told him, keeping his eyes where his ass was slowly opening up under the pressure, stretching to take the unbelievably smooth object inside, “it will get messy if you break it, and I still have plans for tonight.”

Stiles was shaking as the egg slipped inside him, the feeling of his sensitized hole spreading and then closing behind the intrusion - swallowing it - was making him almost dizzy. The egg was cold, he could feel it sitting inside his rectum, heavy and round. Alan didn’t wait till he got used to the feeling; he was already lubing up the next one and pushing it in gently, keeping it still for a second where it stretched him the widest before letting his ass suck it inside.

He had to concentrate on breathing. He didn’t think he ever felt anything remotely like this, and it was a bit scary. The manager hummed and pressed three fingers into him, pushing the eggs farther inside and making Stiles moan as they bumped around inside him. When the next one entered him there was a vague tension from being full, but he saw that Alan was already preparing another one. He felt his eyes bulge. How many were there?

The man caught his eyes, but didn’t say anything as he fed the egg into him; he had to push on it a bit more forcefully to make room.

His thighs were trembling.

Alan stopped, starting to finger him again, trying to get them even deeper.

“That was the fourth,” he said conversationally, twisting his fingers and Stiles felt the mass inside him shift, “there’s six more to go.”

Stiles didn’t even notice his fingers loosening on the headboard in his panic, because that was… that was not going to happen, it couldn’t...

“Hands back,” Alan said, voice completely calm but the order still feeling like a slap across his face. He quickly tightened his grip, his chest squeezing tight with a mixture of terror and obedience.

The fingers in his ass didn’t stop, but the man put his other hand on the inside of his thigh, kneading the tense flesh.

“Tell me why you’re worried.”

“It won’t… Hah… uh...” The eggs shifted, one of them butting against his prostate. “They won’t fit,” his voice was higher usual, sounding thready even for his own ears.

“Yes, they will,” Alan said simply and matter of factly, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Stiles whined, because no, no they…

“They will get stuck!” he managed finally, feeling himself flush with shame from the little sob that followed the words.

Alan looked him in the eyes, reaching blindly for the next egg.

“No, they won’t. I will put all of them inside, and you are going to keep them in your belly while I fuck your mouth.” He pushed the egg inside, quick and hard, stealing his breath away. His fingers played with the rim of his asshole as it fought to close. “After I came, you will push them out, one by one.”

Stiles kept shaking his head, not believing him, even as Alan picked up the discarded cucumber and covered it with crisco again before slowly fucking it into him.

He could feel the blunt end of the vegetable bumping into the eggs and pushing, forcing them farther into his bowels. He was breathing hard. There was still a touch of fear sizzling in his brain but it was overpowered by a constantly growing sense of incomprehensible anticipation.

The manager fed the eggs slowly and methodically into his hole, using the cucumber to make room inside him after every single one.

He was crying, tremors running up and down his body. He knew it wasn’t true, but there was a lump in his throat and his fucked out, stupid brain was trying to convince him that it was the first egg, pushed so far that it was going to come out of his mouth.

“Last one,” Alan declared finally, pushing it in unbelievably slowly, watching in rapt attention as his entrance opened wide around it and sucked it in. He was so full that his ass couldn’t close completely, gaping rhythmically around the tip of the egg peeking out from his channel.

The man pushed at the egg with his thumb, making it vanish for a second, but it appeared again, stretching the tired ring of muscle as soon as he let go.

Stiles’s breath was hitching.

“You’re doing very good,” Alan told him, taking hold of his hips, and dragging him down the bed until his arms were pulled tight as his fingers held onto the headboard. He worked the bolster pillow out from under his body, lowering him gently to the mattress. Stiles moaned, the change in position rubbing the eggs against each other inside him.

The manager stood and undressed unhurriedly, the sight taking Stiles’s mind off the sensations battling in his head. Alan was still beautiful; maybe it was because he so rarely saw him without his clothes, but it was like a punch to the gut - in a good way.

The man smiled at him, climbing back on the bed and sliding the pillow under his neck, making his head fall back at an awkward angle. He kneeled between him and the headboard, facing his body.

Alan’s cock was hard, and he just laid it on Stiles’s face for a few seconds, letting him breath in his scent with his hairy balls brushing against his forehead.

“I will be able to go deeper like this, but it will be harder for you to swallow,” he explained, cupping the vulnerable stretch of his neck and rubbing it up and down. “But you have enough practice to manage by now, so make it good for me, hm?” he squeezed down on his throat for a beat and Stiles felt his eyes close, his mouth falling open wide and waiting.

Alan didn’t need any more invitation, he shifted back a few inches and slowly drove his cock in, not stopping until he was all the way down.

It really felt like he was deeper than ever and Stiles’s eyes watered almost instantly from the intrusion, he didn’t gag though; the position opened him up and made for a smooth glide inside. Alan’s testes slapped against his face as he picked up the pace and started to fuck him steadily. He didn’t pull out far enough for him to be able to breath - only on every third or fourth thrust - and the burning in his lungs just made him more desperate for the large head to lodge in his throat.

“Yes, that’s it,” he said, voice steady but breathing a bit strained. “Show me your tongue.”

Stiles obeyed, struggling to inch it out of his mouth; he didn’t expect it when Alan caught it between two fingers, pulling the slick muscle tight and holding it trapped. He didn’t know why - it was a bit painful and awkward -, but it made something hot inside his chest bubble up.

The manager sped up, putting more force behind his hips. The hand splayed on his throat tightened, at first only whenever he was driving in deep, but after a while he just didn’t let up the pressure except for the short seconds Stiles was allowed to suck in some air.

He wasn’t exactly being strangled - he wasn’t able to breath while his throat was fucked anyway -, yet it made his veins sing with adrenalin.

Maybe it was because he was so blissed out by the feeling of the fingers clamped hard around his neck, but it took a few minutes for his brain to catch up to what Alan was actually doing; jerking off inside his throat.

The realization was horrifying and unbelievably exciting; he was just a toy, an object to be manipulated and used however Alan wanted.

And Alan wanted to use him hard. He knew he was in for a ride when the man stilled for a second and let him take a proper breath - and he was right. Alan used his tongue to pull open his mouth as wide as it was humanly possible before plunging his dick into him, his hand a vice around his throat. Stiles could feel it through the thin skin of his neck; the hard length of the cock pistoning into him from the inside and the fingers gripping his flesh on the outside. Stiles was nothing more than a layer of cushioning between the two.

His eyes rolled back as Alan pounded into him. Saliva was gushing out of his mouth, with his head upside-down it dribbled into his nose, tickling and burning; he couldn’t stop his body from convulsing, the urge to cough and free his airways overwhelming.

His choking tightened his throat around the man’s erection, and he grunted, forcing his length down impossibly deeper before coming.

There were grey spots dancing behind Stiles’s closed eyelids, his stomach was heaving, his brain was convinced that he would suffocate if he couldn’t get the liquid out of his nose - apparently not caring that there was a whole dick jammed into him and making breathing impossible either way.

He was just a hairbreadth away from truly panicing when Alan finally pulled out, immediately rolling him to his side as he started retching and hacking - he felt an egg pop out of his ass with the force of his body jerking and for some reason, that seemed to be the breaking point.

He was sobbing full force, face a mess of drool, tears and snot. Alan knelt by his head, rubbing the back of his neck soothingly. He didn’t vomit, but he did cough up some of Alan’s spunk - that the manager immediately scooped up from the covers and fed right back into his mouth.

“No, no. No spilling. Keep my come down, that’s it, very good,” he said, taking a tissue from the bedside table and wiping his face gently after he made sure that Stiles swallowed everything.

He couldn’t stop crying.

Alan sat back against the headboard and pulled his shaking body into the V of his legs until Stiles’s back was resting against his chest. He couldn’t help turning his head and pressing his face into the man’s warm skin as he tried in vain to calm down.

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

Alan kept his arms around him, caging him in, but it felt right, just what he needed.

His heartbeat grew slower eventually, and when his eyes managed to focus they fell on the lonely egg, sitting abandoned in the middle of the bed. His breath hitched.

Alan probably followed his gaze because his arms loosened, hands stroking over his chest and shoulders without any particular aim, smoothing out the raising goosebumps.

"Should we get them out?" he asked conversationally. He stretched out his leg and pulled the empty Tupperware container closer with his toes.

Stiles nodded.

“Alright,” Alan said, pulling his knees up and arranging Stiles so his legs were hooked over the man’s thighs, opening him wide and lifting his hips enough for the box to be placed under his hole.

He shivered, he could feel the next egg, sitting in his rectum, straining against his hole from the inside.

The manager took hold of his wrists in one hand and rested the other on his stomach, petting gently.

“Okay, start pushing,” he ordered quietly.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't know why it was so hard, he wanted them out, but his brain revolted at the idea of doing what he needed to. He thought that maybe it was because the urge was so similar to taking a dump that he couldn't do it like this; on a bed, held close by Alan.

"It's fine, just try," the man said patiently, pushing lightly at his belly.

Stiles swallowed, his throat clicking dryly. It hurt a bit from being used so hard and the slight tingle of pain helped him find his center.

The egg popped out, hitting the bottom of the container with a slightly wet thud. He couldn't help the shudder that ran through him at the sound. His ass was already tired and the strange sensation of pushing something smooth and round - something alien - out was unsettling.

"Very good, push again."

He did, forcing the second egg out of his body and then the next. He was breathing harder by the fourth but managed after straining his muscles.

"That's it, take a few seconds, let them slide lower."

He did. He could actually feel it as gravity took it's hold and shifted the weight inside, pulling it towards his opening.

He gasped, instinctively starting to push, his muscles stretching wide as the eggs left his body one by one.

Five, six, seven... eight.

He was covered in sweat. It was hard, his sphincter couldn't keep up with his will, growing weak and lax with all the exertion. He couldn't feel the last two inside, the realization making him whine. He knew it, he knew they would get stuck. Oh god... Oh god, did he have to go to a hospital... what...

Alan held him tighter as his body tensed up and started applying pressure on his stomach, rubbing it clockwise in slow, wide circles, denting his flesh as his palm pressed against it.

"Everything's okay," he said, still sounding sure, even though Stiles thought he might be about to die. On the third round of the manager massaging his belly he could feel a... well, no, not a pop, something much gentler; something being dislodged and then an egg was sliding down his bowels.

Relief washed over him, making him suck in a few huge gulps of air. His hole was utterly exhausted - he could feel the egg sitting there, poking a bit out of him but he couldn't make himself give that last shove that would force it out. He started crying again, though much more quietly this time.

Alan nuzzled the side of his head and reached between his legs, digging three fingers into him - making the egg skiddle away inside for a second before managing to cup his fingers around the slippery surface and pulling it out.

Stiles's chest was heaving, this was tough. No, it was impossible, there was no way he could get another one out. It would stay inside... he would get some kind of infection or medical condition or something... he would...

He pulled on Alan's hold ineffectually, struggling as much as he could but the man locked his arm around his middle in a firm embrace.

"Shh, it's okay, you did it. All out."

Stiles stopped for a second, dumbfounded, because no...

"No, no that was..." he remembered that he didn't have permission to speak, but it was too late, he couldn't stop once he started. "That was just nine... there... there's one more and I..." He couldn't finish, voice dying on a hiccupping breath.

The manager actually chuckled into his ear.

"No, you're okay. You’ve been counting?"

Stiles nodded, biting his lips. Nine, he got rid of nine.

"And you had all of them when we started?" He could feel the little smile against the side of his face, and... oh. Oh, he lost one. It was still sitting on the bed, right in front of him.

The tension left his body all at once, making him slump against the man. He was an idiot. With that cold, heavy weight of worry gone fe felt like he was floating. Alan was talking to him but he could barely hear him.

“You did great. Better than I hoped for…” He let go of his wrists and kept rubbing his palms all over Stiles’s skin. “You were amazing, I’m very pleased with you.”

He let the words settle over him, covering his frayed nerves. The man took up the can of crisco and handed it over to him, Stiles looked at it dumbly for a moment.

“We’re not finished yet,” he said, making his breath stutter on a whine. He was so tired, he wasn’t sure he could take anything else.

Alan held his right hand out in front of him, flexing his fingers.

“Slick it up for me.”

Stiles didn’t understand. Like, what? The man wasn’t holding anything, so what should he slick up? His whole ha…?

His fingers started trembling as he caught on, almost dropping the can.

He unconsciously tried to wriggle back and away, but only ended up pressing himself closer to Alan’s chest, whose other hand sneaked between his thighs and started fingering his loose hole, the sudden touch making him bite down on his lower lip hard.

“It’s okay. You’re nice and stretched, we’ve worked on it all evening. It’s going to be like nothing you’ve ever experienced and you will love every second of it, I promise,” the manager assured him in a calm, confident voice, his fingers pumping easily in and out of his opening without so much as a twitch of resistance.

Stiles panted through his open mouth, just staring at Alan’s hand; he had a thick, wide palm with blunt fingers. It was huge.

“Come now,” Alan said, spreading the digits in his ass wide enough that he could feel the cool air whisper against his inside. He couldn’t stop a shiver, and it finally snapped him out of his haze.

He took a large glob of crisco and started covering Alan’s fingers, greasing them up thoroughly, smearing the shortening into every nook and cranny. He worked slowly. Maybe a bit too slowly, but the man didn’t call him out on trying to stall.

Touching Alan’s hand like this, with his own fingers mapping out the dimensions of it, it seemed more and more impossible that it could ever fit into him; the thought made his insides squirm, his feelings getting so tangled that he couldn’t make sense of them.

He lubed Alan up to the wrist in a daze but the man was talking again before he could finish.

"A bit more, put some on my forearm," he said. Stiles was shaking uncontrollably, his cock twitching weakly against the crease of his thigh.

"That's enough." The man lowered his legs, letting Stiles get out of his hold. The eggs were placed on the bedside table and Alan stood to make room for him. His right hand shined wetly in the lamplight.

"On your knees, you can hug the pillow if you want, but you’re not allowed to touch yourself.”

He went, getting in the middle of the bed. He didn’t think he ever felt as uncertain as he was in that moment as he let himself settle on his knees and elbows. He couldn’t help thinking about how he looked, with his pale, skinny ass jutting into the air. It made no sense, but he was suddenly overwhelmed by the knowledge that he was completely inadequate for this.

The mattress dipped as Alan got behind him, and Stiles flinched at the first touch on his ass, even though the man was just smoothing his dry hand over the globe of his ass.

“Shh, it’s fine, you’re fine. All you have to do is open up and try to relax, you can leave the rest to me.”

That was much easier said than done. His brain was filled with images of Alan’s hand, of how huge it was. He kept getting tenser and tenser, muscles locking tight.

The manager didn’t do anything other than pet his bottom for long minutes, waiting him out. It didn’t work exactly, but after a while his death grip on the pillow did loosen a fraction. He tried breathing evenly. If there was one thing that he learnt, it was that this was going to happen no matter what he had to say about it, just because _Alan_ wanted it to happen. The thought was surprisingly comforting.

The man hummed, and the next second there were slick fingers circling the rim of his hole, not pushing in, not yet, just playing around, getting his whole crack slippery.

He pushed his face into the pillow when three of the fingers entered him finally without difficulty, the reminder of how lax he already was making him embarrassed, even though Alan was the one to get him that way. The man’s left hand kept caressing him; traveling anywhere over his skin from his thigh to the small of his back without any apparent goal.

The fingers pumped into him lazily, twisting and spreading without particular rhythm. He thought that the irregularity of it would get him strung up again, but for some reason it did the exact opposite; he couldn’t prepare for the slight burn of the stretch and soon he gave up on trying to prepare for it and just relaxed into the feeling.

“Very good, you’re doing great,” Alan told him, quietly, taking hold of his hip before withdrawing his fingers. When he pushed in again there were four of them.

Stiles grit his teeth instinctively, from the mere knowledge, but it wasn’t as bad as he feared. There was a feeling of fullness, a low, but insistent fire in his muscles as they tried to open up for the intrusion, but there was also a little tingle of pleasure. He didn’t understand what was happening; Alan wasn’t touching his prostate, so he didn’t know where the pleasant buzz was coming from and his cock wasn’t getting hard, so he had no idea where it was going, but it was there, humming just under the walls of his insides. He moaned into the pillow, unable to keep it down.

The manager drove into him carefully, stopping from time to time to get more crisco. There was barely any friction, just the insistent pressure.

He didn’t know when he started rocking back into it.

“That’s it,” Alan told him, gripping his hip tighter and slowing him down a bit, the next time Stiles pushed back, he could feel something give; the hand slipped farther into him, up to Alan’s knuckles. The bones were rubbing against the rim of his hole from the inside. He shifted his knees on the bed, trying to… get away or get closer? One of them. Probably.

The man stilled and twisted his wrist. His thumb rubbed at the sensitive skin of his taint and that unknown pleasure flared higher, making Stiles whine. His dick twitched, it was already hardened halfway but it wasn’t getting any fuller.

The manager didn’t pull out for long moments, just kept turning his wrist this way and that, the tips of his fingers smoothing over his insides, petting his walls.

When he pulled out, he did it completely and Stiles gave a little disappointed grunt at the loss. His hole twitched, distantly he thought that perhaps it was hungry. The pillow under his face was wet, though he wasn’t sure if it was drool or tears. Maybe a bit of both.

The second the tip of Alan’s fingers touched his rim, he knew it was coming. They were pulled tightly together, forming a cone as they entered, torturously slow. Stiles shook, trying to hold as still as possible. He could feel the thumb tucked between the fingers as they slid in deeper, inch by inch, stopped at the widest part by the resistance of his muscles.

Alan let go of his hip, his palm felt a bit sweaty as it smoothed over to the small of his back, pushing down to make him bow his back more.

“Almost there, you’re wonderful... just a bit more,” his voice was deep, deeper than Stiles has ever heard it, but it might have been just his imagination playing tricks, wanting him to believe that the manager felt the same sense of hanging over the edge of unknown depths as he did.

“I need you to push,” he said, before pressing against his entrance with steady, unshakable strength.

It hurt; it wasn’t sharp, it wasn’t unbearable, but it hurt. The pain was layering over him, like the cooling sweat covering his body. He squeezed his eyes together and tried to do what he’d been told.

“That’s it, open up for me…”

He was, he was trying… He gulped air down noisily, collecting the last morsels of his energy and just _pushed_.

The breath was knocked out of him when Alan finally did it. There was a small, bright burst of pain-pleasure-pain-something, and he was in, his hand enveloped in Stiles’s body, his ass closing around his wrist, clamping down on it, frantic.

The man didn’t stop, he immediately started moving his hand - not pulling out, just kind of grinding into him - before he could be overwhelmed by what happened.

Stiles was making noises. Hitching breaths and small, desperate whimpers. He couldn’t stop.

“Beautiful, you’re doing beautifully,” Alan told him.

He didn’t warn Stiles as he pulled out - gentle, but uncaring of the way his sphincter was trying to hold on, trying to suck his hand back -, only leaving the very tip of his fingers in his hole before moving forward again. It was slow, but the stretch of it still intense enough to make him feel like he was cracking, breaking apart on the inside.

When Alan built up a sluggish rhythm, he felt like he did actually fell apart.

He was aware that he was repeating a constant stream of _huhh-huhh-huhh_ , high and thready. He knew his hips were twitching, greeting Alan’s hand with a little jerk every time it breached his opening. But all of that felt far away.

He was being transformed; every single cell in his body was rearranging, molding into a new constellation around Alan’s fist.

He didn’t understand what it meant. He only knew that it was permanent and irrevocable.

He was floating, maybe he would have flown away completely if he wasn’t anchored to his body by Alan, by his hand, by the way it was creating a space inside Stiles for himself. He was scared that no one else would be able to fill it...

He didn’t know how long he was in that place where nothing seemed to matter except for the man who was slowly fusing the atoms of his being into a new creature, but it faded away slowly as Alan started speeding up - still so, so gentle, but insistent - pumping his fist into him.

Stiles clutched the pillow, licking his dry lips and blinking his eyes open.

“Yes, there you are,” Alan said, like he knew he went away, maybe even where to.

The pleasure was back, making him listless and twitchy, urging him on to meet the manager’s thrusts, famished for that second of burning when he pushed into his hole. His knees couldn’t stay still, shifting on the bed to get the angle just right, even though he didn’t think he actually knew what the was aiming for. Thankfully Alan seemed to catch on immediately.

“That’s okay, I’ve got you,” he said, voice unbelievably warm. His left hand reached under Stiles, taking his cock into his hand and started stroking him while his fist stopped, deep in his channel. He didn’t move, just pressed his fingers against Stiles’s prostate and let him rock around him as quick and as hard as he wanted.

He did just that; body jolting between Alan’s two hands pleasuring him from inside and outside, he thought it should be odd that he was still not completely hard, but soon it didn’t matter.

When he came he didn’t make a sound. His mouth was open wide, but nothing came out. At least he didn’t think. He wasn’t sure. He was falling into darkness.

 

* * *

 

EPILOGUE

Monday morning, he dressed slowly. His body was sore, his ass felt unbelievably tender, but there was no actual pain, just a little, almost _sweet_ ache.

Stiles glanced at the note on the bedside table ‘Checkout at 10’ it read simply in Alan’s neat handwriting, with the key lying beside it. His phone woke him at half past nine, though he wasn’t the one to set the alarm. All his things were back, and everything that would have betrayed what happened here during the weekend was gone, room 27 looking as nondescript and ordinary as the day he arrived.

He didn’t know what to think. He remembered. He remembered that they took a bath after, that Alan was sitting behind him in the tub, holding him up and washing his body clean of the grime of sweat and crisco.

He wasn’t sure whether the man slept here, but when he woke up he was alone.

He zipped up his bag slowly, turning around one last time to make sure he didn’t forget anything, even though he never really got around to unpack.

The light was on at the office, and he made his way over, dragging his feet on every step.

Alan was behind the counter, doing crosswords, he looked up when Stiles entered and gave him a non-committal smile, face unreadable.

“Good morning,” he greeted and the air was stuck in Stiles’s lungs for a seconds.

“Uh… yeah, good morning.” His eyes kept skidding away,  unable to look at the manager.

He put the key down on the counter.

“Well, well I guess… I will be going.”

Alan nodded, picking up the key and turning around to hang it in its place.

Stiles swallowed. He guessed this was it.

He was almost out the door when the man spoke up.

“As soon as you set a date for coming back, I want you to quit touching yourself,” he said, voice confident and calmly commanding, just like he remembered, “and of course I expect you to be clean and shaved when you get here.”

Stiles nodded, not daring to turn around and walked out.

The feeling of having been somehow changed still lingered, though he realized that it wasn’t so scary anymore. So yeah, some doors were opened in him and he would never be able to shut them again, but they felt less like threats and more like opportunities.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I have a few things to say, please bear with me.
> 
> 1\. Thank you so much for joining me (and Stiles) on this journey! Thank you for everyone who left a kudo or a comment, it kept me going even when I was stuck. Just. Thanks.
> 
> 2\. I am planning a sequel (If I actually want to do it, I should start it in a few days otherwise I will loose momentum), so if you would be interest in reading one, feel free to drop a few words, I'm pretty sure I will need all the encouragement I can get. Also, if you hiave any kinks that you would like to see in this verse, now is the time to let me know - I'm not promising anything, but I'm open for suggestions!
> 
> 3\. I have a dilemma! I thought you guys could put your beautiful brains together and help me figure it out: if there's a sequel, I will need a pet name that Alan would use for Stiles (I was very careful about not making him call Stiles anything in this fic, to imply a little distance - maybe you've noticed...). It can't be 'pet' or 'puppy' or 'sweetheart' or 'sweety' - because I either used them with Raf, or plan to use them for someone else. Do you guys happen to have any ideas???
> 
> (PS I found the best fucking fisting video while I was doing my 'research', so LOL writing this chapter was already worth it...)

**Author's Note:**

> I would love to hear from you in the comments!
> 
> Also, if you have questions, suggestions or anything else, you can find me at http://udunie.tumblr.com/

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Magnetic Subconcious](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11965194) by [GlibbityGlop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlibbityGlop/pseuds/GlibbityGlop)




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